SUPERWHOAVENGEPOTTERLOCK - The Stars Will Fall Silent
by SailorSilvanesti
Summary: In this massive multi-fandom crossover, two universes are at stake as Loki and Voldemort join forces to command a nefarious army that cannot be remembered... The universes are tearing apart under the strain, and only a mad man in a box and his companions can put it to rights -with the help of two hunters, a consulting detective, some Hogwarts students and an angel, that is... [AU]
1. Chapter 1: Vortexes and Other Timey-Wime

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Supernatural, Doctor Who, the Avengers, Harry Potter or Sherlock (BBC), nor any of the mentioned characters. I do, however, retain the right to point out that this story is purely my idea... **

**This is my NaNoWriMo entry this year (2012)**, and is still in progress, thus why in later chapters if it seems to have an issue or doesn't make sense, it is simply because it is unedited. Also, if you could point these issues out, it will make my life easier.

**ENJOY...**

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**NaNoWriMo 2012:**

SUPERWHOAVENGEPOTTERLOCK

**~*The Stars Will Fall Silent*~**

**~)0(~**

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**Chapter 1: Vortexes and Other Timey-WimeyTransdimensional Tomfoolery**

He was seeing stars…

Not those kinds of stars, well, yes those kinds of stars… but different… It was all rather surreal, watching the bleak gash in the sky twist and writhe in an array of colours, attempting to close in on itself.

It could have been a flash of fanciful thinking on the part of his battered genius brain, but Tony Stark –plummeting to Earth at speeds that would make most men use the in-suit bathroom faster than you could say, 'Mummy'- could have sworn that something shot past… and someone had been screaming…

He shook his head as the thought slipped away, loosely filed under 'Miscellaneous' in his mental library of Things He Needed To Look Into Later. Frowning against the pounding migraine that was playing a rather rowdy drumset in his mind, the Man of Iron saw familiar faces and memories slipping past his eyes… like his own private movie theatre – of which he had two, back in Stark Tower. Not that that information was of any use to him right now…

He sighed, and tried to will away the images… especially the ones of Captain America, his childhood hero, glaring at him with such disgust as he denounced that Tony could even call himself a superhero. Calling him selfish… but he wasn't… Steve just cared too much, didn't want him hurt. Like how Tony had felt about Pepper…

A part of his mind registered that he'd said, 'had felt'… but the majority of it quashed that thought in the wake of a new memory… his last chance to say Goodbye, how it was cruelly ignored…

'_If only Pepper had picked up her mobile…_' came a voice inside his mind, the tone languid and calm, like a warm liquid that eased the ache he felt in his heart. This thought was swept aside in a rush of warmth directed at the star-spangled man who was frantically screaming into his commlink, hoping that Tony could hear… would answer… but he couldn't.

Internal transistors, flight control and his comms were busted from the interdimensional travel, not to mention everything else was utterly shot from the beating he'd taken in the city before playing suicidal delivery boy for that rocket. Packed a hell of a wallop, that thing had… and now, as consciousness faded in and out, wind rustling through cracks in his armour… all he could do was contemplate the rash of stupid choices he'd made in his life up until this very moment.

Freefall is the perfect time for contemplation, he grinned to himself before everything finally went black…

The billionaire genius playboy philanthropist not even flinchinga singular muscle when something snatched him from the air, and brought him safely down to Earth… where his angry avenging angel in spangled tights was waiting.

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There came a rather ominous metallic clunk from somewhere near the temporal matrix infuser; which Rory had recently taken to referring to as '_the wonky pizza with eyes' _ was not_ as _disturbing as it could be, and _to be fair_ –as Amy often pointed out when the Doctor sulked about it- it kind of _did_ look like a pizza with wonky eyes.

"Oh no, that noise is DEFINITELY _never _good…_I think_," stated the Doctor, pulling on his beloved tweed jacket in jerky distracted movements, and striding over to the console, eyes and hands roaming all over the entirety of the circular control panel.

He was looking for the source of that dreadful noise, which was fair enough… still, the others –his current companions- couldn't help but feel that the 'distraction' had been far too convenient; given what they had been trying to do… and how much their Doctor had been protesting at the time…

Amy pouted adorably –in the way that usually wrapped the alien around her little finger, and dropped her calamitous armfuls of garishly-coloured, eye burningly bright Space Hawaiian shirts. Onesthat she had personally picked outfor them all to wear from a surprisingly convenient closet hidden in a random room filled with nothing but ladies lingerie –which she really neededto ask the Doctor about in a quiet moment- far, far back in the recesses of the TARDIS…

While Amy pouted at the escape, Rory contrived to looked a little bit lost…given how quickly he had gone from '_fighting a thousand year old time lord out of his tweed jacket'_ to _'holding open air'_, but soon snapped out of his surprised stupor.

Seconds earlier, he _had_ been in the process of helping Amy wrangle their Doctor out of his suit… and into something far more casual for their trip to Space California; before or after some 'mischief' if the opportunity, er… 'arose', you could say… was up to fate. Apparently Fate had it in for them…

Because, of course, the Universe's day wasn't_quite _complete without trying to kill them _at least_ once…

Naturally assuring that, just at the moment they had all reconciled themselves to the idea of having a fun, relaxing holiday on another planet where nothing tried to kill them, erase them from time or simply eat them… something went utterly wibbly. Or in human terms, '_terribly wrong_'.

The time-stream vortex around the TARDIS seemed to be convulsing violently, like a muscle being continuously shocked with short bursts of electricity; these chaotic events appearing to throw off their trajectory somewhat, though neither of the companions were going to say it aloud. There was only so many times you or your ideas could be affectionately called, 'so _humany-wumany_' before it became a pet name… and rather annoying, to be honest.

Even with all the outside clamour of space and time having a strange form of seizure, it still did not explain exactly what the sudden grating, clunking metallic noises echoing around the TARDIS interior was, nor from whence it was emanating. Which was unusual to say the least… All the self-diagnosis scans appeared to be coming up empty as well, no matter how many times his long, slender fingers typed in the re-run sequence…the answer was always the same. Always nothing wrong.

"Uh, what was that…?" Rory stated, looking about for obvious signs of damage and finding nothing to suggest the time machine wasn't as structurally sound as normal; Amy was under the console, checking the wires for any form of sparks. The wily redhead was grinning, it was all a big adventure to her… even if the others didn't quite see it that way…

Amelia Pond. Ever the little girl waiting in her garden with a bowl of fish fingers and custard; waiting for her Raggedy Doctor to return…

Tall and gangly, the Doctor gave the impression of being clumsy and awkward… and to be fair, that would be a fairly spot-on observation…However those who knew him were always comforted by the fact that there always seemed to be a method to his madness… and a big, cheesy smile on his face no matter what kind of horror they were facing.

For Rory to see a grim frown cross the thousand-or-so year old Time Lord's face was a tad disturbing to see; Amy apparently wasn't taking any of his '_ask the Doctor what's wrong'_ telepathic messages at the moment… so the former nurse decided he'd just have to grit his teeth and do it.

No sooner had he opened his mouth to speak, did the Doctor's hand come up to hush him. Without turning to face him, the Time Lord said, "I honestly have no idea Rory, this is a new one even for me… and before you ask," he flailed something that looked like a blank piece of paper, "…Psychic Paper, you were thinking really loudly. You can just ask me things now if you want, I mean, there's not much any of us have to hide from each other now we're… well…"

There could have been an end to that statement, given enough time… but,- somewhat ironically, given their current location was IN a Time Machine- they never seemed to have enough… before calamity struck.

'Sssshhhhrrrrrtttt!'

The sound of tearing fabric seemed to echo on throughout the entirety of the Time Machine; it seemed both alien and terrifyingly familiar at the same time… something about it made Amy cold inside. Like a warning to get the hell away from whatever had created that soundas fast as possible; her instincts were usually spot-on when it came to danger detection, just not as good in the 'avoidance' side of things. The universe had it in for the Raggedy Doctor and his companions… no other explanation necessary.

They were all at the console now, fiddling with knobs, switches and buttons, pulling levers… it could hardly make the situation worse, now could it? A grim smile tugged at the Doctor's lips at the thought, no… not a lot worse than being trapped in a writhing time vortex with no means of escape while something in poor Sexy –as he referred to the TARDIS in private- was clanging about. Rory touched something that whizzed that drew his focus as the nurse leapt back like he'd been stung, the Doctor was going to ask if he was alright… when Amy slammed her open palm down on a flashing button and the noise stopped.

Oh, it had been an _Alarm_. Wonderful… an alarm for _what,_ exactly?

There was no need for an answer. On the internal monitors came a sight that struck a primal, quaking terror in the base of all their spines… Rory backing away, head shaking slightly as whispered memories of a time he didn't exist, came pouring back like a floodtide…

Amy's heartbeat leapt, remembering a time when a similar phenomenon had claimed her entire life, parents and family… till all that was left was a girl with the entire universe in her head…

The Doctor remembered both sets of events in tandem within his mind… the suffering of Amy as her world dissolved, the patient love of Rory as he guarded the Pandorica for over two thousand years to keep Amy safe, his own sacrifice to save the world... and rebirth from the memories of those who loved him dearly. Unexpected salvation, how ingeniously humany-wumany!

Yet…having to watch them struggle, even though the ending was happy… it had broken his hearts. They had won, they'd closed all the fissures between space and time…or so they thought. For there, mockingly placed in the centre of their trajectory, was a Time Crack.

Bold, brazen and filling the time vortex just ahead of them, like an unavoidable embrace from Death… there was no way around it; and the TARDIS could do nothing but hurtle them towards it as was her duty. Pulling on the brakes, hell, even reverse right this second could strand them in this in-between space for eternity…

He couldn't risk that, risk them… better to never be than to be trapped in purgatory forever.

"Doctor, what are you doing…?" Amy asked, her tone questioning, yet sceptical as he stepped back from the console, resigned to the idea they were all going to cease existence at any second now. She was holding Rory, who had hit the floor on his knees shaking like a leaf in a solid breeze, as two thousand years of memory washed over him; battles he'd fought, friends he's watched die, things he remembered clearly but had not technically happened.

The Doctor knelt down, "_It's going to be alright Rory, you'll see… just hold on."_ He whispered.

The humans he brought with him were always so precious to him, so wonderful and brave and clever, but yet… so fragile. The wonders of the universe could break them, an eternity alone -the fate he alone bore now that he was the last of the Time Lords- could tear their minds apart if only they experienced it for a short while. And then there was the great calamity the trio had brought upon the universe, the Big Bang Two… to save everything and everyone; the three had erased their own pasts and rewritten time itself.

It was supposed to have sealed all the cracks in time, permanently creating a fused, fixed timeline without the continuity errors of before… the only reason there could be one before them now would be a rupture in space-time. A rift,or something causing two points in time and space to intersect, where they shouldn't…

His mind was racing almost faster than his hearts, this shouldn't be physically possible unless… oh dear, that couldn't-… no, just an anomaly. Probably fell into another one of the Dream Master's traps…

He stared directly into the monitor and made up his mind, THAT was NOT really out there. Not at all, figment of imagination…

Striding over to the door, the Doctor flung it wide open and watched as the supposed 'time crack' grew larger and larger in his vision… but something seemed off for some reasons that he just couldn't put a finger on. Then it hit him… and he turned an impressive shade of pale… swinging about and slamming the door shut like there was a carnivorous Keltak beast out there…

Imagination usually didn't include the snapping, tingling sensation of time currents, like static electricity crawling up your skin… this was real, _this was BAD_, but real. Oh dear… he needed a Jammy Dodger like you wouldn't believe!

"Doctor!" shouted Amy, staring at the man she idolised with a look that plainly said '_get it together man, and tell us what the hell is going on!_' as she swayed by the console, next to an also-standing Rory. Their bodies shook in a surreal sort of pitching and rolling motion, like they were all on a boat in the middle of a light storm…

The crackling hiss of lightning flared across the monitors, something was on fire… there was smoke… white light reached closer and closer, calling them in…embracing them almost; and the TARDIS was engulfed. The Doctor felt he should yell that he loved them to Amy and Rory, but their faces clearly said they already knew it…

…wait, what was happening? Why were they not existing already? Oh… well, _that_ changes things quite significantly…

There was space outside, pitch black with stars and everything! They weren't dead! Huzzah! He might even wear his fez in celebration… provided he made sure Amy wasn't carrying any fez-destroying firearms on her at the current moment. He turned with a grand gesture, smiling, to say, "We're not dead!" and stopped cold.

Mere inches from the time crack was another hole, this one seemed deliberately made -like a portal being funnelled from a distant place, given that it was oddly perfectly circular in shape and size…

Which, except in the Garrullean galaxies, is not a naturally occurring this was _no Garruellean galaxy_, he could tell by the lack of naked squid people… wonderful race, bit crazy about worshipping rocks, but if it kept them happy…

Monitors all over the console were flaring some kind of warning. Something large, alien and definitely dangerous was hovering a short distance from their relative position, just bristling with a multitude of warlike creatures who had yet to notice them, thankfully. But that was not the cause of the TARDIS' s distress, the alarms were more concerned about the large metallic something that was headed towards it at great speed… kind of looked like a-

"MISSLE!" he cried, throwing himself under the nearest bit of console, just in time to miss a bright red and gold object streak past the external monitors and start to fall back through the circular portal… or the hand that reached out to make a grab at it from the back of the TARDIS…

Amy and Rory slid in beside him, eyes wide and yet unquestioning about the danger as something external exploded, sending shockwaves rocketing through the time machine;the entire TARDIS shuddered violently and flungit's inhabitants every which way possible as the engine flashed an ominous klaxonsscreamed throughout all of the vast the ship as the _autonomous life form protection protocols_ were activated by Sexy herself, which immediately attempted to take her precious cargo out of the firing line of the remaining shockwaves by opening another time vortex.

Unfortunately, the time crack and the vortex appeared to be leeching off one another, forming into a singular giant anomaly that barely adhered to the laws of science or man… The Doctor shook his head, which then slammed into a metal railing as the ship flipped over, no time for clever nonsense… not when there are Ponds to protect and universes to save… in that order.

It seemed for a moment like the TARDIS itself was breaking apart, but the walls held firm. Like a great, sucking maw, the fusion of portal, time-crack and time vortex swirled and beckoned, then sucked them inside with a greedy, lip-smacking gulp… The TARDIS was in free-fall, computer systems trying to lock on to the nearest inhabitable world, to protect her people… while the gravometric and temporal forces pulled in all directions, spinning them over and over. Ponds and Time Lords bounced off the inner walls of the console room like ping-pongs, occasionally bouncing in different directions, or down corridors… at one point Rory disappeared and all that was heard was a faint 'splash!' before a sopping wet centurion came back into view. Likewise, Amy decided to make a game of it, trying to bring something back each time she took a foray into the depths of the TARDIS…

The others just had to laugh, always trying to make the best of things, she was…

With a slam, the door opened wide –which should have been physically impossible, but apparently not- to reveal a man in a standard issue knee-length army coat and a killer smile; who tumbled into the room like a professional acrobat, door slamming shut behind him, "Didn't you hear me knocking, Doctor? You need a doorbell in this thing…"

"Jack!" the Doctor cried, amazed the man was even here, "What the-… how did you get here?" he yelled over the alarm. To which the grinning man replied, "I just read the door… did you know it says 'Pull' NOT '_Push_'? You've been doing it wrong this whole time!" followed by a hearty laugh as the tumbling of the TARDIS yanked him about alongside the other inhabitants…

"How about we discuss this when we're not doing some magnificent feats of aerial acrobatics, shall we, boys?" shouted Amy, just as the TARDIS managed to hit what felt like an atmosphere and really start spinning in earnest, no gentle flopping them about… this was serious. Amy, Rory, the Doctor -and this Jack fellow- were being thrown in all directions, slamming harshly into all manner of different immobile, and none-too-soft,objects. Not to mention all the floating hazards that Amy had collected –to much hilarity- earlier.

The Doctor was the first to fall, knocking heads rather harshly with Jack and taking them both out; bodies still tumbling about the console room like a pair of menacing floating roadblocks that the remaining Ponds strove to avoid crashing into with impressive set of aerial acrobatics. These feats were continued as Amy hurriedly flipped over Rory's head as he came past at great speed; he twisted to avoid slamming into a railing, both noticing how hot the TARDIS had gotten all of a sudden…

It was almost like they were in an oven, or on fi-… The TARDIS was on fire.

If only they could get to the external emergency extinguisher lever, by the door…but suddenly that seemed like an impossible task given there was no means of deliberately aiming for it and besides that, it was getting hard to see. Thick grey smoke was seeping inside and filling the interior, making things hard to see; it seemed that even Amy shouting, "Extractor Fans **_On_**!" didn't seem to make much headway in clearing it.

With all the grace of a drunken flying duck, Rory made a leap for the lever, but an unexpected rotation –and subsequent crash into the TARDIS's wall- he was sent spiralling towards the centre of the console…and was slammed against the engines; knocked out cold in an instant.

Which was funny, because if he'd held out for just a moment longer, like Amy managed to by clinging desperately to an extended piece of cabling flailing from the floor… he could have watched them crash land in a field full of flying people. Who all came running to help as the TARDIS finally came to a bone-shattering stop, about ten feetinto the ground, simultaneously slamming the fiery, pale redhead face-first into the unforgivingly hard floor of the time machine.

She almost could have sworn she saw two of the figures hit the ground and start running toward them, on the monitors… drawing sticks of wood and shouting things at the flaming TARDIS…

…and then it all fell away.

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**To Be Continued...**

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Next: **Chapter 2 - Of Quidditch and Questionable Landings**

Loved it? Hated it?

Let me know...

~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~


	2. Chapter 2: Of Quidditch and Questionable

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned Fandoms -SUPERNATURAL, AVENGERS, DOCTOR WHO, SHERLOCK (BBC) or HARRY POTTER, but you have to admit... piecing them together was rather impressive...**

**Chapter 2...**

**Specifically because of that lovely review **_Amy James_** posted. ENJOY.**

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**Chapter 2: Of Quidditch and Questionable Landings**

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He blew the whistle strung about his neck on a crimson cord the very second he saw it… calling an immediate cessation to practice with one long, shrill note.

It rung out across the field as a large, blue object came hurtling from the heavens and straight through the centre of the Gryffindor Chasers, also narrowly avoiding the two new Beaters -who were chasing a rogue Bludger about, Slytherin prank most likely- to plough several feet into the soft grassy field of the Quidditch Pitch.

Harry Potter's green eyes were wide in surprise as he angled his broom directly downwards and urged his Firebolt to head straight towards the large blue box that was apparently on fire; glowing crimson and sunset orange flames heartily licking all about the strange item and shooting over the edge of the deep pit gouged into the ground. A flash of red by his side told him his best friend –and Gryffindor Keeper- Ron Weasley was by his side, angling his own broom towards the crash site in perfect synchronicity with Harry.

"What do you think it is…?" he shouted over the wind rushing in his ears at the redhead, gesturing toward the object but receiving only an uncertain shrug in return. Of course, until Ron turned his head a fraction and called back, "On fire, mate… you sure you should be Seeker if your eyesight's that bad without your glasses?" The grin on the other's face was ridiculously cheesy, and Harry rolled his eyes with a sigh.

They pulled up sharply to avoid slamming into the ground, and touched down with practiced ease… almost immediately Harry was forced to duck, and Ron jerked to the left to avoid having their heads removed by the rogue bludger as it sped past with malicious fury. "Uh, guys, catch that before it kills someone please?" he shouted over his shoulder at the new Beaters trailing after it on their _Featherwing 400_s; somewhere in the stands Harry could have sworn he heard Malfoy laughing.

Draco would pay for this later… but right now, there were other things to be dealt with. The pair wasalready up and running towards the object before it even occurred to either of them that maybe pulling out their wands was a good idea. Despite all of the '_never run with a wand in your hand_' lectures Professor Flitwick gave in First Year, apparently you could accidentally 'swish and flick' or hex yourselfwhen inattentively holding a wand.

With a shake of his head, Harry cleared the irrelevant thoughts as both he and Ron pulled up sharply by the crater. Out of the corner of one eye, he saw Hermione was already halfway to them from where she had been patiently studying for her upcoming Ancient Runes exam in the stands while the pair of them were at practice. "Aguamenti! Use Aguamenti!" she shouted to the pair of them.

"Oh, er, right…" Ron said a little sheepishly, clearing his throat awkwardly, both thinking that they should have already thought of that… he raised his wand, "_Aguamenti!_" the emphasis with which he shouted it assured that the spell came off a little more forcefully than intended…

Torrents of silvery water gushed from the tip of his wand, covering the worst of the flames and sending up great clouds of steam, leaving them panting and sweaty in their thick Quidditch robes, more effective than any sauna. Harry was just in the process of searching his mental database of spells in an attempt to find something to clear the humid smog, when Hermione appeared to his left and shouted, "_Aerosusius_!" sending a gentle breeze that cleared and cooled simultaneously.

Ron wasmoving towards the pit and looking over the edge at a perilous angle, "Hey Harry… what the heck is a 'Police Box' for? Oh, the Ministry isn't going to like this… enchanting Muggle stuff… dad was in enough trouble about the car but a random flying box…" he frowned deeply, "Hang on, is someone…groaning in there?" It took a second, but the others heard it too.

"Ron's right, Harry… there's someone in there, we have to help them!" Hermione said, already lifting her robes to slide down into the hole, which was unfortunately somewhat muddy due to the downpour it had received earlier.

"_Miss Granger_, you will do no such thing!" cried an elderly, authorative voice from somewhere beyond the crowd pooling behind them, the remaining Gryffindor Quidditch team and curious spectators. The trio turned to find Professor McGonagall running towards them.

One of her hands resting upon her tall, black pointed hat, the other holding a corner of her deep green and black robes up as she ran, to avoid tripping over; an unusually flustered expression marred her usually knowledgeable, authoritative and serene features. The Head of Gryffindor was the second of two people coming towards them at speed, the first being Neville Longbottom… who appeared to be leading her to them.

"Move, students… please return to the castle. Now you three… answer me, _what_ is going on here and _why_ is it _always_ you three?" she dispersed in all directions, not wanting to risk her legendary wrath, especially given her grave expression; it wasn't every day that someone or something managed to get through the protective charms extending all around and above Hogwarts.

"We're not sure, Professor… one minute we were in the middle of Quidditch practice, dodging a rogue bludger… the next, a flaming Police Box falls out of the sky and nearly kills the majority of my team. As you can see, it kind of hit the pitch and kept going for a fair few feet, Professor. Ron and Hermione put out the flames, but we think there's someone in there… we heard a voice…" explained Harry, gesturing downwards as more noises became more pronounced, clanging and shuffling… something that sounded like an expletive.

The deep blue Police Box was tilted upon its side, smoking slightly and rather singed, but the door was face-up, which was fortunate; given its occupant chose that exact moment to give the gathered students and Professor McGonagall miniature heart attacks by throwing it open.

There was an almighty clattering bang, as an arm extended, holding onto the frame of the door to haul itself up -another gangly arm in tweed jacket sleeves was extended from where it had given the door a shove; a smoking head of floppy brown hair appeared, followed by a grinning face, the eyes sparkled as he noticed the people surrounding them and looked directly up. "Hello there! Spot of bother with the landing matrix, not to worry, easily fixed…"

Someone inside the box groaned, the man glanced down, "Hang on in there, I'm coming… oh dear, I think Jack is dead again… not to worry, give him a moment and he'll help you with that shoulder, Rory... just stay there! Amy, are you alright? No, no you aren't… How many fingers am I holding up?" There was a pause at which time a female voice mumbled something, "…well, no,_ three_, actually. Somewhat certain you may have a concussion there, young Pond, but just hold on and don't try to stand by yourself… One second, you lot, there are people out here!" towards the end his voice grew excited, like a child on Christmas in a room full of presents.

"Humans, yes? Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor… any chance of a bit of assistance, my companions and myself are in a bit worse for wear, the time vortex went wibbly on us… can't really explain it without a diagram..." the man seemed to realise he was prattling, probably due to shock, and stopped abruptly, looking up and scanning the small, oddly-dressed crowd. His piercing eyes rested upon the form of Professor McGonagall, the oldest and most likely the one in charge of the situation, who simply nodded and offhandedly gestured at Harry and Ron to grab their broomsticks.

"Very well, Mister… _Doctor_, if that is what you choose to name yourself… I will send down four of my students to give you and your companions assistance out of this hole your device has created in our Quidditch Pitch, but I fully intend to gain answers as to how you got here the moment you are on firm ground again!" she stated directly, if rather sternly, and his face fell like a kicked puppy. Then brightened, "Did you say 'Quidditch'?", he beamed, disappearing into the box again with a short yell and a crash.

McGonagall turned to her students in the interim, watching in grim amusement as Harry and Ron attempted to coax Hermione and Neville onto their broomsticks, before stepping in to speed up the process with some carefully chosen words. "Mr Longbottom, if you truly intend to ride Weasley's broomstick backwards into the pit, then please continue to mount the broomstick in that manner. If you do not, I suggest you let Mr Weasley mount first, then seat yourself behind him… and Miss Granger, it is not going to bite you, now please hop onto Mr Potter's broom so we may get this over with. I, for one, would very much like to return to the school before it is time for Dinner, and I can only imagine what my unattended third years are doing in the Transfiguration lesson I was forced to leave to attend to this…"

There was an explosion from somewhere within the large castle behind them, forcing the Head of Gryffindor house to close her eyes and take a deep, calming breath before opening them again. "It seems that leaving Master Finnegan in charge of my students was not the best idea…" she muttered, again gazing down to see if the strange man in his tweed suit had reappeared yet.

Hermione held on tightly to Harry as he pushed his Firebolt off the ground, doing nothing more than hovering in anticipation of assisting Ron, who was attempting to take off with the wiggling Neville as a passenger. "OiNev, you need to stop squirming or we'll both fall off… just hold on to me and it'll be over in a second. Yes, like that… round the waist –Harry, stop laughing- and after this, we never speak of this again…" the redhead stated, glaring directly at Harry, who was just about falling off his broom with a fit of the giggles.

Hermione whacked him over the back of his head, ruffling the shaggy black hair, "Come on, they may actually really need our help in there…"

Without further ado, Harry and Ron guided the broomsticks slightly higher, hovering over the lip of the crater in the pitch, then tilted downwards rather sharply… shooting straight through the open door in quick succession… an pulled up sharply in awe."Whoa…" Neville exclaimed, jaw hanging open as he scanned the interior; Ron and Harry having a similar reaction…

Hermione flicked her eyes around, "Must be some sort of undetectable extension charm, like the manufacturers put on tents and such; but I will admit… this is ratheringenious, I would never have expected this amount of internal space based off of the unassuming exterior." Ron glanced across at her with an incredulous expression, "_Ratheringenious_? I think you mean _bloody brilliant_, Hermione!"

"Oh, you're inside now! Wonderful, I'm the Doctor, careful where you step… we're kind of all wibbly-wobbly at the moment, given the TARDIS is on its side-… oh, you're _flying_. On brooms of all things! Brilliant! What _will_ you humans think of next?" smiled the tall, gangly man that had spoken to them earlier, the 'Doctor' with no actual appeared to be leaning haphazardly against a circular console that was on its side, trying to assist a redheaded young woman lying about its base, who had a nasty gash in her forehead. It was sluggishly dribbling blood down from a frighteningly pale temple, and she appeared to be clinging onto the console as if the ship was still moving. "Oooh, Doctor, I think I'm going to be sick again… do you have any idea how many trips to Space Paris and that shopping planet it' going to take before I forgive you for that terrible landing?" she snapped at the Doctor, but her eyes –though unfocused- danced with humour.

"Amelia Pond, are you suggesting I deliberately crash-landed us in the middle of a Quidditch pitch?" he stated sternly, grinning; she flailed a pale arm out in a friendly whack, but missed and had to close her eyes, groaning at the sudden movement. "Don't let me do that again…"

"Gah!" cried a man that none of them had noticed up until this point, he lurched upright at the waist from where he was haphazardly entangled in wires, and stared around in all directions before his eyes fell on the Doctor. "Doc, oh god… what happened? Did I… die again? Feels like it… but from what?" he gingerly touched his head with his only free body part –his right arm- before coming to a conclusion, "Oh, skull-fracture… and here I was laughing about how you were always so stubborn and hard-headed, when apparently it's more literal than humorous…"

"Jack, yes… sorry about that, but at least you're not dead now, right? Wonderful… can you get free on your own or will you need assistance? We've got a bit of a problem, Amy's got quite the concussion and Rory's a bit battered beyond belief… one of his shoulders has dislocated, I think. On the plus side, the cavalry has arrived!" at the look he was being given, the Doctor backtracked, "Oh, not the literal one, apparently we're somewhere called a '_Quidditch Pitch_', not anywhere near the battlefields of history… a strangely fortuitous turn of events for us, I think…"

Wiggling in the wires for a moment, the man the Doctor called Jack managed to loose only his right arm, and gave up, "Help would be wonderful… send me that adorable little redhead, and his boyfriend...the cute brunette trying to hide behind him!" he called, causing Ron to splutter and turn as red as his hair; Neville nearly falling off of the broomstick in surprise.

"He is _NOT_ my boyfriend!" they called in unison, but all the same, Ron carefully guided the broomstick down towards where the man was trapped; alighting them both on a railing just above where he was tangled. The pair whipping out their wands and began using rudimentarymovement spells –the easiest kind of magic there is- to move each of the strangely colouredand occasionally sparking, cords in turn; less likely to blast off a limb or strangle the man that way…

Though from Ron's embarrassed expression, he might have actually liked to do that…

~)0(~

Jack flexed his free arm, returning circulation with a sigh of relief, "Oh, that is so much better, you have no idea!" he smiled, watching with interest as the boys- no, young men- managed to use their funnily-shaped sticks to free his other arm and upper torso. It was almost as if the sticks were creating some kind of guidance, because the cables and wirings of the TARDIS's console were slowly moving of –seemingly- their own volition and releasing him painfully slowly.

He stretched as best he could under the circumstances, cracking his neck and all the other joints that were screaming for relief from being suspended for so long –and not in the sexy way he was famed for in seventeen separate galaxies…

"So, boys… what does a man have to do around here to get a smile out of the adorable natives?" he tried to break the ice, putting on his best smile; the mousy-haired young man smiled nervously, "Sir… Jack, I-uh, it's nice to meet you but if you could be quiet for just a minute…" his hands fidgeted around his wand, trying to be firm and failing.

"What he means is, you horny git, is that we have to concentrate or we might blow your leg off… magic's a tricky thing," stated Ron in a distracted way, finally freeing the man's lower half from the labyrinth of cables, with a somewhat overdramatic flourish of his wand. He stowed the wand and reached down, "Come on, grab hold of my hand and we'll pull you up…" he called.

"For you, gorgeous? Anything…" Jack winked cheekily and reached for the hand that was swiftly withdrawn. "Oi,_ stop that you_… now grab hold and we'll get you out of there… but don't think I won't drop you, because_ I will_…" Ron warned, again extending his hand and grabbing hold of Jack's… who was then dropped into his cradle of cables again as Neville whispered something into the redhead's ear.

"You're right Neville, why didn't I think of that?" he stated, pulling out the wand in his robe pocket and aiming it at Jack, Neville mirroring as he asked, "On three?"

"Whoa fellas, hey… I apologise for the comments, no need to kill me with your magic-sticks…" stated the man, hands high in the air in surrender, suddenly concerned by the malicious glee spread across the boys' faces.

"One…" said Ron, taking aim.

"…Two…" Neville echoed. Both wands now centred on his chest…

"**Three**…_Wingardium Leviosa!_" cried the pair in synchronicity, and Jack had the weirdest sensation of weightlessness being imposed on him from an external force, it kind of felt like being wrapped in a gentle breeze. Which was the weirdest possible explanation his mind had to offer for the sensation, because he had honestly been anticipating a more… well, 'magic-y' tingling, not this gentle caress of air.

The pair used the spell to lure the larger man closer, up level with the railing they were balancing upon, and pulled him onto it without any great strain to either party. "Thanks boys, but the big question is, how do we get back up there…?" asked Jack, gesturing upwards to where the others were congregated, Harry and Hermione hovering close to the console and attempting to wrangle the redheaded woman onto the broomstick between them.

Ron smiled at Neville and summoned his broomstick, "Oh, no problem, mate… you're gonna love this!"

~)0(~

Meanwhile, the Doctor was carefully edging his way across the TARDIS engines in a spread-eagled fashion; finally reaching Amy and pulling her up with him, balancing like someone sitting on a log over a large chasm in the earth. He slung a leg over each side of the engine, straddling it like one would a saddle on a horse, or asweet-tempered donkey… _or -on that one drunken occasion- a Deltarian giraffe… very similar to the ones on Earth, but purple, and venomous…_

That had been _one wild party_!

He shook his head to focus on the task at hand, getting Amy to safety. The Doctor dragged her towards him with a painstaking amount of care, careful that no harm should come to his beloved Pond… She groaned again at the very sensation of the movement, even though her eyes were tightly clamped shut over her scintillating light brown orbs; the sound made the Doctor pause, biting his lip.

"Amy… _Amy listen to me_, we need you to stand up so that… Harry and Hermione, was it?" he addressed the two hovering over his head, the pair of teenagers in back and red robes nodded back in affirmation. "So that Harry and Hermione can get you out of here… alright?"

The normally fiery redhead mumbled back, obviously half-asleep; which was generally not a good thing for anyone with a concussion to do. "No, Pond… _by Fish fingers and custard_, you will not fall asleep on me! Wake up, soldier!" he tapped her face gently, an approximation of a slap… and her eyes flared open with a burning fire in their depths that scared him. That is, once she focused on his face properly, which wasn't a very encouraging sign…

"Hey Doc, need a hand?" asked a cheerful voice by his ear as Jack disembarked from the broom he'd been sandwiched between Ron and Neville on, to land on the engine core behind him.

"As a matter of fact, Jack… yes. Help me get Amy to Harry and Hermione, she needs real help… I can't even tell the extent of the damage yet because my sonic's gone missing in the tumbling." He responded, and between the two of them, they lifted the slight female between them with little effort; sliding her into Hermione's arms, who then held onto Harry for the both of them… and they flew straight out the door.

The Doctor was eyeing Jack with all the scrutiny of an x-ray scanner…

To which, the man laughed, "Doc, I'm fine, trust me! Not a lot can kill me… and when it does, it's not for very long. So… new face? When did this happen? Wait, ignore that… how did you three not hear me knocking inside the TARDIS?"

"Some kind of alarm was going off, couldn't hear you… and the new face is a long story, but you've –well not really met, more like '_were thrown past in the chaos_'- Amy and…Rory. Oops! _SORRY RORY_! Don't know what I've done with my brain recently, how could I forget you, Rory? Coming!" he cried, looking down under the Console again, but his gaze was more directed towards the left… presumably aiming for the narrow corridor leading off the main chamber that was currently no more than a diagonal scar in the wall.

With all the agility of a drunken llama, and surprisingly more than anyone would have credited the Doctor with, the gangly man leapt off of his precarious perch upon the TARDIS engine and somehow bounded across the nearby railing at the right angle to throw himself into the corridor. Thus leading Jack to suspect that all Time Lords were at least part mountain goat…

He glanced at the small beams of darkening sunlight shining in through the open door above their heads, then down at the sheer drop below where he stood…

In his heart, Jack knew that he could get over to that corridor with only a slight possibility of dying; not that it seemed to matter if he did, what with his continuous resurrection sequence and all. Part of him questioned why that seemed such a normal thought nowadays, as if he was casually realising that if one shirt got dirty he always had a spare in the boot of his metaphorical car…

His musings on how to lend a hand were cut short by the redhead chiming in with, "Look mate, you'd be bloody crazy to jump down there, so why don't you just let me fly you to the Doctor, after I go drop Neville off…?"

Jack honestly considered it for a full moment -to be fair, it was a reasonable offer; any logical person would have taken Ron up on it in a heartbeat… but this was Jack they were talking to... and he didn't play by logic.

More by luck, buckets and buckets full of plain dumb luck… not to mention his killer poker face.

He tilted his head back to glance at the boys, winking as he called, "Oh alright, but only because you're such a cutie!" The man only teased them for the somewhat sadistic pleasure of watching the strangely snarky Ronturn a luminescent shade of red in the face.

Deciding that getting that reaction every time might just be worth it if the other should ever choose to bide his time for revenge, and one day unexpectedly toss him off mid-air… potentially over a pit of… did they have Dragons here?

He was lost in this strange line of thinking until the Doctor's voice –strained with concern- jerked him out of his reverie as the alien cried out, "Jack, stop making sex-eyes at anything with a pulse and come give me a hand with Rory!"

Mind made up, he jumped… and missed, to the horrified yells of the two hovering just behind him….

~)0(~

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**To Be Continued...**

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Next:** Chapter 3: Don't Make Me Shoot a Motherfucker…**

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, please Review if you did...

~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~


	3. Chapter 3: Don't Make Me Shoot a Motherf

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned fandoms or characters.**

**Chapter 3... some Avengers... you are welcome.**

**ENJOY.**

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**~*Chapter 3: Don't Make Me Shoot a Motherfucker…*~**

**~)0(~**

Sharp wailing pitched itself in an escalating fashion as an internal alarm registered within the gigantic floating secret base, sending technical staff and agents running in all directions to assess the extent of the emergency.

One man in particular woke up feeling somewhat uncharitable and generally wrathful towards the very idea of consciousness… what with the high-pitched screaming of klaxons whistling about in his head, like a trapped insect buzzing or something was going to pay for this early wake-up call, and it would most definitely not be pretty. Especially given that the clock was reading only an hour had passed since he'd finally had the opportunity to lie down and throw consciousness out the double-bolted shatter-proof windows after days of insomnia and stressful arguing with the stupid-ass council members… and the minor inconvenience of the Loki-lead alien invasion. Damn pointy-helmeted little punk and his space whales…

Not that he hadn't particularly _enjoyed_ knocking the council off their moralistic high horses with his sheer belligerence, brazen disrespect and, well, _lack of bureaucratic language_, could be the only way to explain his reaction to their idea of simply nuking New York city –'citizens be damned'. Calling them out as the potential _mass-murdering Motherfuckers_ they almost became helped him win the argument, too… never underestimate the power of a guilty conscience and a man with the ability to find and exploit your weaknesses.

Whoever said he had no diplomatic tact was a lying son of a bitch who didn't know what they were on about…

With a growl, S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Nick Fury rose out of his standard-issue bed and cracked his neck in a rather disconcerting manner, before snatching up the long, flowing black leather coat that had been haphazardly thrown on a convenient computer chair seconds before he hit the mattress an hour ago. One grandiose flourish later, he had the coat thrown over his shoulders, and was in the process of shrugging it on, taking a moment to brush out the black clothing he wore underneath,

He straightened the clothing as best was possible, one last time, before taking up the eyepatch he left on the standard-issue (sickeningly lime-green) bedside table four feet from him, and tying it on firmly; heading towards the door to his quarters with a fiery determination burning in his heart –_which many S.H.I.E.L.D. employees often claimed did not actually exist_- to find the person who woke him, and kill him or her without mercy.

A flickering glance towards the full-length mirror that stood across the room stated his outfit had surpassed '_presentable_' and moved right over the border into '_ominous motherfucker coming to kick ass and take names_'…

At no point in this preparation period had the insanely incessant alarm ceased to shrill, echoing it's warning loudly within his quarters as he tapped in the code to the security keypad by the doorframe and watched the two metallic halves of the doors slide apart to reveal utter chaos. Some logical part of him, hidden within the deep, dark, 'off-limits to all personnel and other bullshit' recess of his mind, was playing the observer in this maelstrom of fevered and oddly colourful chaos; casually taking down a mental note to drill these half-baked new recruits into standard emergency procedures. The utter nonsense and tomfoolery on display before his very eye was mind-bogglingly stupid… someone was likely to get hurt, even killed…

It was only by the grace of the gods themselves that Doctor Banner wasn't onboard at the current moment; with all the activity and grand displays of over-stressed idiocy, it would be more than likely that the Hulk would have appeared…thus adding a whole new dimension to this panic.

Fury took a moment to cover his face with one hand, shutting his good eye and taking a deep breath, trying to keep in mind that the majority of the Helicarrier was still in repair and the staff already had battle-fatigue –_not to mentionwho knows how many other kinds of injuries thanks to Agent Barton's Loki-induced raid earlier_. Still, he expected a little professionalism from them all, or, at the very least… something slightly more than '_headless chicken mode'_ whenever something made a scary noise in the… was it day or night?

Ambient lighting was on… definitely nighttime.

Agent Maria Hill, -a petite redhead with the ability to throw a man four times her size over her shoulder with only her index finger- came striding up to the Director, seemingly_brimming_ with purpose and clutching a clipboard fairly overflowing with files and loose paper reports. She had a few bruises marring her sternly beautiful features, but was otherwise unharmed at that moment, and looked as if she'd simply squeezed in a full night's rest… though Fury had no illusions of his second-in-command actually taking downtime in the short interim he had been trying to sleep; one of them was always watching, commanding… Leaving the Helicarrier unsupervised for even a minute was akin to handing a toddler a powertool and directing them to the nearest electric socket, it never ended well for anyone…

He sighed deeply and straightened to his full height, towering over some of the younger recruits in the bustling hallway, ensuring they all skirted about him like timid mice evading a tom cat.

"Alright, let's hear it… what has Stark done now?" he asked, waiting for the other agent to list off the great many indecent, unjust, or downright unusual –hell, even just plain WEIRD- things that the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist had messed with in the last hour. It had taken all of four minutes after the man had been literally levered out from the concrete of a typical New York street's fine pavement (_no one could tell which street, given the signpost was mangled beyond repair_) and shoved into the back of a Helicarrier transport jet with fussing medical staff, before the playboy had gotten tired of the attention… and sought to amuse himself by driving a tired and irritated Fury crazy. Well, crazier…

A flash of cash had sent the small jet pilot through the nearest fast food restaurant's drive-through, and the Director had only just begun to imagine the sheer amount of paperwork that shit would generate… when reports came in that Tony was trying to re-route the aircraft's main systems to send them back to Stark Tower –_or play TETRIS_- technicians were still unclear his exact intent.

To save himself from throwing himself off the Helicarrier, boarding the jet himself mid-flight and strangling the snarky younger man… Nick Fury had given orders for Stark to be sedated, which appeared to have worked at the time… Although Captain America had protested fairly vehemently against the idea, until Fury threatened to have him doped up to the eyeballs as well; at which point Rogers had decided to fall somewhat silent, and minimise his disgruntlement to disapproving glares in Fury's direction over the comm-link monitors.

Stark had been down for the count… or so he'd thought, given that the man clearly was aboard right now and his Helicarrier was going _batshit crazy_.

Agent Hill cleared her throat officiously, "Uh, actually sir, Stark is being quite good now that the rest of the AVENGERS have been checked into the Helicarrier medical ward, but your initial assumptions were correct, Sir, Stark _does_ have something to do with the was something he was mumbling about when he was coming out of sedation… Rogers also confirms that it was the first thing Iron Man said after being rescued, well… right after a nonsensical request for something called _Schwarma_." She paused, and he put on his best long-suffering expression that clearly stated, _Well? Get on with it!_

Hill nodded and shuffled several papers in the clipboard folder, "Stark mentioned a '_box-like object falling through the rift_' and '_a hand reaching for me through space_' several times over and over, but when fully conscious was not able to elaborate on the meaning of these statements. However, careful analysis of satellite and radar data from the few seconds surrounding Stark's descent into Earth's atmosphere in the malfunctioning Iron Man suit show a secondary object in a parallel descent path."

She pulled out several satellite photos, corresponding orbital maps and several pictures taken by the Helicarrier's own systems, all showing corresponding images of a blurred, box-like object being shot at an angle compatible with that of Stark's hasty descent to Earth. Fury began to stride towards the command deck, Hill keeping pace beside him effortlessly as she handed more pictures of vaguely projected trajectories and weather satellite photos to him.

"The object appeared for a brief interval of approximately four seconds, Sir. Video feeds registered it only as a slight abnormality in visible phenomena until a tech ran the tape back at one one-thousandth of normal speed. Clearly showing the box appearing in a blaze of purple light in several frames, in a parallel course to that of Stark, then appearing to strike some sort of invisible barrier or field and veer off, disappearing in the next frame. Projections indicate it's trajectory, predicted speed and momentum could have carried it all the way to England… we're assembling teams of agents at this very moment for deployment so we can ascertain whether this projection is correct or faulty. We need to be certain, especially after our last extra-terrestrial incursion escalated to full-blown invasion in the matter of a few hours; thus why I felt it had become necessary to alert the entirety of the base… I apologise for waking you Sir." She finished, tapping in the door code to the bridge with pinpoint efficiency and gesturing him ahead, as the superior officer.

"Listen up, everybody. An alien incursion has been detected, emanating from the rift through which Loki summoned his little alien allies the Chitauri… your jobs, as of _this very second_," he gestured with his hands to emphasise the gravity of his statement, "are to find me the _exact co-ordinates_ of where this goddamn blue box blob on all these maps, satellite photos and _pretty print out pictures_landed! Do I make myself clear?" Nick Fury demanded, going for the _fire and brimstone approach_ as he entered the room… a bit of drama never hurt anyone, although on several occasions a new recruit might keel over in a dead faint from sheer fear. Secretly he enjoyed moments like that… officially, he was considered a hazard to new recruit's health; and this notoriety either manifested in utter awed obedience from new underlings, or immediate completion of set tasks from recruits who feared his legendary wrath that he knew they whispered about after lights out…

The dozen or so S.H.I.E.L.D agents in the room paused their tapping or holo-screen manipulations to listen, and then to gulp in unison, snapping off salutes and formal, '_Yes, Sir!_'s at him before returning to their stations and working far more feverishly than before.

There were occasionally some perks to being in charge of this aerial circus of agents and assassins.

"Agent Hill," his baritone rang out sharply in the ensuing relative silence, and she snapped to his side like a small dog on one of those retractable leashes; silently awaiting commands. "I'm going to need you to set up a meeting with those idiots on the council so I can debrief them on the current extra-terrestrial situation, and you will have to check on _you-know-who-I'm-talking-about_, see if he's able to get up and inspire some enthusiasm in our super-troops. I want the AVENGERS ready and rearing to go. Collect Doctor Banner from Stark Tower and have medical discharge both Iron Man and Agent Barton... Kiss their boo-boos if you have to, just _get them here_!" he emphasised the last words with all the precision of aiming a rocket launcher at an aircraft hanger.

Impossible to miss exactly which part of his instructions were the most important part to carry out, according to the Director… With a clipped, "Yes, Sir." Agent Hill allowed her head to fall in a formal bow of affirmation and acquiescence to his will before turning sharply about on her heel and leaving as quickly as she had entered the room, on silent footsteps.

The Director found himself a moment wherein to pace and contemplate his options or run around screaming, because as the Director, he could do what he damn well wanted without anyone batting an eyelid –speaking of which… he realised what was still bugging him after all the chaos he had just put to rights…

"Would some clever techno-motherfucker _please turn that goddamn alarm off already_?" he yelled over the heads of his staff, more than a little irked at the noise. With a flourish of frantically tapping fingers, the entire Helicarrier went utterly, ghostly silent… bar his footsteps. Pacing was not exactly the best way to inspire calm or a commanding prescence in your minions, he realised; so the Director went for stoic observation…

Putting the pressure on his troops to come up with some helpful solutions by striding forwards and placing both hands on the railing surrounding his elevated command deck; with deliberate movements, Fury found himself putting his weight on his palms as he leant forwards at the waist, his one-eyed gaze fairly glaring down upon those below, who tensed automatically. He imagined the experience was somewhat like trying to take an exam you had not studied for, with the teacher craning his or her neck over your shoulders to see your answers, from a position right behind you.

Most likely it was downright utterly unnerving… well, good.

To look upon the inhabitants of the room, it was as if the wrath of god was beating down upon the backs of their heads in all its vengeful glory; productivity increased before his very eyes… As soon as he was suitably satisfied that the agents on deck were performing to peak efficiency through sheer intimidation alone, Fury straightened and whirled about, throwing up a hoverscreen to each side with a gesture of his hands.

Immediately feeds and messages appeared from every single computer in the room, including some mission reports and urgent e-mails from dignitaries back on earth that needed to be dealt with; but the Director flicked them all to the side with a single movement of his right index finger… using his left hand to pull up a flashing icon and expand the program. It appeared Hill had already ordered that the tape be uploaded to his personal control panel…

He clicked play, watching a slow-motion capture of the mysterious object as it flashed past the monitor and shocked the Director at how fast it had both appeared and vanished. With a pensive frown marring his normally expressionless face, Fury then re-played it frame-by-frame, watching intently for the slightest hint of what the object was, or if there was anyone…or anything inside.

~)0(~

When Hill finally returned, she found her boss simultaneously running the film at frame-by-frame comparisons, overlaid by world maps; with graphs of air currents and predicted trajectories littering the holo-screen about the small media player in the centre. "_Definitely England, almost have a lock on the exact co-ordinates…_" he appeared to be muttering to himself, before snapping, "Agent Hill, report."

This man definitely had super-powers of some kind, given that he hadn't even turned around to acknowledge her presence. Maria straightened in her standard-issue S.H.I.E.L.D. employee uniform, threw back her shoulders and began to recite important information she had gleaned from the sparse technical systems reports -detailing the extent of the damage the invasion had caused to the Helicarrier- that had been handed to her in the past half hour or so. She could visibly see the man's patience wearing thin, and so immediately switched tactics to the more important information, somehow Hill didn't seem to think the Director cared if the secondary commissary area was on fire or not.

"Sir, the council is already in preliminary meetings about the potential hostile, and will shortly advise us of a time at which it will become convenient for S.H.I.E.L.D to advise _them_ about the impending threat… if that makes any sense at all…" she paused. He made a non-committal gesture with his hand, "Bureaucracy rarely does, Agent. Continue."

"Agent Cou-…_Agent C_ is already preparing a briefing statement to give to the AVENGERS, and will commence it upon your command. Medical has approved his release from the secluded area, and it appears the alien weapon had no outstanding effects upon his advanced physiology… it may have, in fact, aided recovery. They are uncertain at this point, but apparently fascinated by his recovery..."

She paused and flicked her gaze down the sheaf of notes within her arms, "There were some slight complications with our Alpha Team, though, Sir. Several of the medical staff were forced to restrain Stark when he became agitated and unreasonable, refusing to cease and desist his intense flirting or submit to a full-biometrics scan up until that point. The staff wererefusing to release him until I arrived on scene to issue an ultimatum; apparently he is quite adamant about going and getting something called 'Schwarma', despite the entirety of the world as he knew it being turned upside down. Even Captain Rogers is having trouble talking him out of this strange notion…"

Her words sped up a little as Hill finally got to airing the dirty little secret she'd been hiding under all her formal reporting, Fury simply seeming to fall into a relaxed stance, as if he'd been waiting for this part the entirety of the conversation. "Sir… Stark, he… he only eventually submitted to the standard medical scans and tests in exchange for having some sent of his desired Schwarma to the Helicarrier. I authorised a small two-agent jet to go and get some from a small restaurant that Stark himself gave clear-cut directions to, in order to best expedite the process of his discharge…" she paused for a breath, noting the ominous twitching the Director had developed under his good eye.

The '_We're a top secret organisation of agents and assassins, not a delivery service for crazy billionaires_' statement hung in the air so heavily that she could almost taste it… but he remained stoically silent… Maria took this as a good sign and swiftly continued her report.

"However, medical reports that he is registering all normal on the biometric scanners, -despite his rather unorthodox method of re-entry into Earth's atmosphere- and will be discharged from the medical bay after Agent C has arrivedto debrief the team. The remaining Avengers have had their mental, physical and cognitive functions checked out in addition to the biometric scans and have all been cleared for active duty with near perfect bills of health –despite a hazard of battle fatigue. On a side note, Doctor Travenheim, -S.H.I.E.L.D.'s leading psychiatrist and current world expert in psychological after-effects of torture, imprisonment and brainwashing techniques -would like to schedule ongoing sessions with Hawkeye after this crisis is dealt with. He believes it is important… and is waiting for your signature on the appropriate forms to make them mandatory; apparently he doubts Agent Barton's motivations should they be kept as '_voluntary_'."

Fury turned about, clasping his hands behind his back and seemingly contemplated the ceiling for a moment…

"Send Agent C in, get those overpowered idiots and the Captain debriefed as swiftly as possible… and see if you can contact Thor, we might need that walking _L'oreal_commercial in the near future. Hell, tell him he can bring his pet Frost Giant if he particularly feels like it…if it'll get him here faster. We don't have half as many agents left as I'd like there to be… not after Barton's attack on the ship when Loki was playing puppet master. Our numbers have fallen further still now I find that the majority are doing clean-up in New York city or over-seeing rescue missions and reconstruction of major building sites. We are going to need all the help we can get in the face of…whatever this thing is. I will not have S.H.I.E.L.D. being caught with their pants around their ankles again, like we did when Loki brought the damn Chitauri to visit…" He paused for a moment to think.

"Pretty damn quiet in here without that alarm going off every other minute…" She could see his eye stray to the screen, "Agent Hill, did the Helicarrier's external cameras manage to get an audio-feed off the object…?"

"Yes Sir, but there was nothing in the audio feed that seemed to help us analyse the object's intent or trajectory, therefore it was stripped from the video." She stated the cold hard factsin a manner that suggested she was wary that that may have been a significant mistake. Fury was already practically assaulting the keys lining the console, pressing buttons and dragging screens all about in a manner that made even the quick-witted Agent Hill somewhat dizzy just observing the Director…

With a final decisive tap, Fury pressed a singular key and almost immediately afterwards the room was filled with a painful-sounding grinding screeching noise that faded in and out in quick bursts; it was utterly unlike anything they had ever heard before…

The man frowned deeply, and began to increase the volume of the audio as the four second long video footage looped over and over again; the sound filled the entire command deck at an ear-splitting rate that completely overshadowed that of the previous alarm. Still he pushed it further and further, until…

_"…-my, Ror-…-ck… -old On!"_ came a barely audible voice, a definitely human-like and very British voice, overlaid with crackled screaming and a thud. Definitely a body hitting something… There were, what Agent Hill had to assume, a number of human beings in that object that the Helicarrier's advanced sensors had managed to pick up on, where human ears failed. Almost immediately, the audio was turned off, leaving her ears buzzing in the silence that felt almost as ominous as approaching the Director before he'd had his coffee of a morning –a suicidal task best left to new recruits or Coul-… _Agent C_.

"One of you keyboard warriors best get on that clue right this instant; analyse the hell out of it and see if you can clear it up a bit; then run the feed through every National, Federal and S.H.I.E.L.D. video and audio databases, see if we can get a name on the speaker. Hell, even the screaming parties would be an improvement on knowing fuck-all, at this point… Right, Agent Johnson is in charge until I get back. Agent Hill with me… we're going to go speak to a bunch of stupid-ass motherfuckers."

She couldn't resist throwing in a small smile as she asked with a straight face, "Should I give Agent C the clearance to brief the Avengers before, or after we speak to the Council…?"

For a second her smile faltered as her hand strayed to the button that signalled assent to Agent C, fearing she had overstepped her mark with that rather rude joke… but just when her life was casually flashing before her eyes…something utterly incredulous happened… the Director threw his head back… and laughed.

"Good one, Agent Hill. Try and raise the Asguardians as well, while you're at it… and SOMEBODY BETTER GET ME A COFFEE BEFORE I START SHOOTING PEOPLE…" he called out in a manner that made it seem more like a firm suggestion than a death threat.

Maria smiled, the videolink meeting with the council was already shaping itself into what looked to be an epic battle of Fury versus the might of humanity stupidity embodied… and watching it was going to be her pleasure. Although a small part of her twinged internally as a somewhat sadistic thought came to mind… it would almost make up for missing the looks on the Avenger's faces when they saw Agent C.

Almost.

~)0(~

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To Be Continued...

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**Chapter 4: Shoo Guy, Don't Bludger Me…**

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**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


	4. Chapter 4: Shoo Guy, Don't Bludger Me

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who, The Avengers, Harry Potter, Sherlock or any of the associated characters.**

**...so... Chapter 4, because I'm Here For Your Entertainment.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Shoo Guy, Don't Bludger Me…**

~)0(~

Languishing in the darkness that surrounded him constantly these days, the Dark Lord lounged decadently on a luxurious sofa of deep green velvet within his faithful minion's grandiose abode. Outside the sky was appropriately bleak, overcast and threatening to storm with ominous grey clouds brooding right over the mansion…

Time passed rather slowly within, and each passing hour drew heavily on Voldemort as he realised how wilful and wild some of his followers had grown in his absence; not to even discuss the disturbing topic of how disgustingly cowed others had become without his guidance, bending their ideals and standards to conform to those of polite wizarding society. Few, very few were faithful enough to continue on his noble cause after his supposed demise… but those like Bellatrix, and the younger Barty Crouch, had done so without thought to their own lives… and made him prouder than any father, in doing so.

He would be the Father of a New Age…

Showing the world how those of pureblood should live, that their rightful place was atop the hierarchy of the wizarding world, standing on the backs of those beneath their notice… like the Mudbloods and Muggles. Their greatness forever echoed in the pantheon of history…

His daydreams of the future to come amused him somewhat for a time, for he would see them come to fruition even if he had to personally curse, hex and murder each and every Muggle, Mudblood and Half-Breed on this entire wretched planet.

_…not to mention _- he shuddered violently at the thought- _those Blood Traitors. _The red-headed family of Weasleys who descried their noble blood purity and cavorted openly with muggle-borns, to the shame of their pureblooded relatives, who denied association to the small clan…

Not to mention their unfortunate association with the Potter boy.

Voldemort did so wish to preserve their pure bloodline… even if a marriage between that family and another noble house was distasteful, perhaps the desire to dabble in the Muggle world was not hereditary… or could be bred out of the ginger brood. Still, children from any pureblood union would be taught of their superiority, almost as soon as they entered the world… held up high as examples to those who would befoul magical blood by mixing it with Muggles.

A small portion of his mind that was generally ignored tried to flare up the memories of his own parents, a silly but beautiful muggle man who spurned the witch that loved him, and the powerful witch who used her dark arts and potions to force affection from that same man. One should never trifle with one below their station, it only brings shame… and vengeance.

If a mother's sting is harsh, that of the child is far more venomous; and their revenge is sweeter. Such things had occurred to him on the night his body was restored to him, stealing both the blood of Potter, and the bones of his wretched muggle father…

He visibly jerked away from that memory, replete in the knowledge that not a single other occupant of this house was present, or would speak of his strange reactions should they have witnessed his moment of weakness. The memories were swiftly stored away again, locked behind the giant mental doors that seemed unbreachable to all but those most skilled in _Legilimens_… and of course… Potter.

Last year had shown that the boy was aware of the link between their minds, had even led that thrice-cursed embarrassment of a pureblood, Sirius Black, to his doom. How could the poor boy have even understood how he had been toyed with? He was still only a child in the ways of the world… and Dark Magic was generally more powerful than the light, if held in the right hands.

Voldemort considered his own pale, scarred hands as suitably powerful enough to wield such immense power… and they would if all went according to plan this year. Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, ah how time had flown since the night he had attempted to murder the child…

Eerie hissing filled the room, unnerving the other members of the household as the sound slithered through cracks and open doors, echoing all over the mansion… but to the Dark Lord, it was a comforting, serpentine lullaby of reassurance. Nagini, his most faithful pet, slithered across the floor calling his name in Parseltongue… winding her way up the sides of the sofa to rest before him; with all the rich food available, the giant snake had grown quite large –both in length and size in recent times.

He must be more strict with her in future, maybe a limit of only one muggle or Mudblood a week? Or was that simply too cruel? If there was nothing else in this world he doted on or cared about, it was Nagini… she _was_ a part of him after all…

With a contented sigh, the Dark Lord flicked his borrowed wand – one that had until recently belonged to a hesitant Lucius Malfoy- and the sofa angled itself ever-so-slightly more towards the windows, just as the rain began to fall.

Death Eaters occasionally appeared to report, or scurry off after his every will and whim during the course of the rest of the day… and at first such things had been delightful distractions from the tedium of being entrapped in the mansion when he wished to be out causing murder and mayhem among the Muggles and Mudbloodsat will, but now he grew weary of their pestering. Wormtail seeming not to be able to tie his own shoes without permission or lengthy instruction from his master… and there was no more fun to be had from torturing the new house elves the Malfoys had found to replace their traitorous previous one.

The Dark Lord found himself completely and utterly bored for the first time in a rather long time, and frowned at the very thought, sensing a headache approaching… but the persistent throb echoing deep within his mind brought not simply pain, but a strange importance to it that eluded him at that very moment. Then he felt it… the connection was there, restored after so very, very long…

It appeared the boy could no longer maintain his blockade, or was too distracted to renew his mental shield against Voldemort's influence… but as exciting a prospect as this very moment was, he knew he must play it carefully. Gently wend his way into Potter's adolescent mind, past the thoughts of the redheaded Weasley girl… or the older brother, which he sought to ask the boy about in future…

Gently ignoring the tedious memories of endless scrolls of parchment, writing and schoolwork… and skirting his dark way through the galleries of familiar faces that always assaulted him upon entering the boy's mind; a form of mental protection that he had no doubt was taught to Potter by none other than Dumbledore himself.

For if Professor Severus Snape had been Potter's main teacher in Occlumency –_the study of occluding one's mind and thoughts to one who seeks entry against the person's will_- then Voldemort would no doubt have already been tormented to madness with a never-ending barrage of painful, agonising and cruel memories gouged from his own past. A clever trick he had learnt from Voldemort, then perfected with deadly accuracy…

Ah yes, one must be quite the skilled Legilimens to enter the mind of Severus Snape, his secret weapon inside the school of witchcraft and wizardry known as Hogwarts… it was why he trusted the man's ability to hide his dual nature from Dumbledore in the first place.

The opportunity to strike had appeared, and Voldemort offhandedly flicked his wand at the numerous ornate doors and shutters lining the room, shutting them all with an overwhelmingly ominous synchronised clattering of bolts and locks. Immediately the room was plunged into total darkness, -all the better for concentration- as Voldemort shut his eyes, focusing on the breath entering and leaving his body…

When the throb of the connection became so strong it had become a visible, pulsating thing behind his eyelids… Voldemort's eyes snapped open with purpose fairly burning within their dark depths, and he shouted, '_Legilimens_!' aloud into the empty room as Nagini wound about his body.

With blinding speed and a great warping of reality, Voldemort's entire perspective seemed to skew – almost as if he were staring down a long, bright and colourful whirlpool somehow tilted upon its side, like a great, gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole.

Voldemort was not afraid to admit that the very first time that had occurred, he had jumped… and rightly so, for it was both terrifyingly unnerving and invigorating all at once; he had been glad that it was in a time when he had borne a different name, and his fellow classmates had not been there to see as he stole the mind of Wormtail that first time.

Faces, images, scents, thoughts, ideas and sensations all washed over and around him with the force and liquidity of warm summer waves, urging him onwards down the tunnel until he made it, finally… gasping at the sensation of existing in the same space and time as another. To be an invisible passenger within another's body was a truly fascinating experience that could not be described with mere mortal words…

He felt the world shift, and the mind adjust to this duality… Not even telling his host that there was an intangible intruder scrying from a little too close to home; colours, students and strangely-dressed muggles came into view, their words carrying on the same inane conversation the mind he occupied assured him had been going on for several moments already.

Muggles… at Hogwarts…

Voldemort gazed with fury -_and no small bout of intrigued curiosity_- out of eyes as green and brilliant as emeralds… that mirrored, so perfectly, those of the last person that Voldemort had managed to kill, one all-hallows night, sixteen summers previously…

Hundreds of kilometres away, a truly terrifying visage awaited those who finally broke down one of the doors to reach his body where it sat at rigid attention and wrapped within the comforting coils of Nagini, in the midst of the Malfoy Manor conservatory.

Voldemort was smiling…

~)0(~

Whoever said _a kiss with a fist was better than none_, had obviously never woken up to the sight of a flustered Doctor squatting by their head in insanely British pants, patiently tapping their cheek in a surprisingly gentle approximation of a sobering slap...

The whole process had obviously been going on for quite a while, as his entire right side of his face ached as if he truly had been punched; not to mention the fiery agony throbbing from his shoulder…

"Rory? Ror-… oh, you're back with us, I don't know if you remember but we've had this conversation twice already, but you took quite the whack into the console and managed to get bounced into the corridor that leads to the bunkbed room. Now, I think you may have broken-… no, dislocated, your left shoulder because that's the specific body part that Amy claims you struck the console with first… but of course I've gone and lost my Sonic. Sexy won't make me a new one until she's all fixed up, I just know it… not that I blame her, I wouldn't particularly feel like making some idiot who lost the last toy I made him a brand spanking new screwdriver while lying in a hole in the earth after having been on fire. _Actually, that reminds me of this one time on Janus Service Planet 47_…"

He coughed, managing to croak out, "D-Doctor? Wha-? Is Amy alright, and you… are you alright? And… what about that tall guy, you know, the one in the long grey bathrobes with the rather nice _a-_… physique?" somewhat painfully, before attempting to roll up into a sitting position. The Doctor noticed too late to caution him, and could only hold him steady, making shushing noises as the former Roman centurion gasped through the sensation of grinding bone, nerve and cartilage in his shoulder… and, something else.

"_Rory, Rory, Rory… shhh, you'll be okay, there's some wonderful people outside who can do funny things with sticks and I'm sure they can fix you, just hold on…_" the Doctor muttered into his hair, holding him close and rocking slowly, trying to stop the male nurse from raising his good arm –the right one- in the off chance it would aggravate the other. His attempts to restrain the other's questing appendage were feeble at best, and he was fobbed off easily, leaving Rory the chance to wince as his somewhat unco-operative right hand tentatively reached into the left breast pocket of his nurses' uniform. That he was wearing only because naturally the Doctor –being the Doctor, with the playful attitude of a dozen puppies, and all the sense of a ten year old- just showed up right after his shift and didn't given any of them a chance to change…

With a groan of triumph, too exhausted to cheer, Rory felt his stiff fingers closing about the cool, slender metallic object hidden within the short blue pit of his scrubs pocket.

"I don't suppose this was what you were looking for, Doctor?" he smiled tightly, flourishing the Sonic Screwdriver with a slightly less dramatic reveal than those used by the majority of Vegas Magicians. It was worth the painful jolt he received as the alien kissed him on the forehead rather forcefully; gasping in astonishment and grabbing at the mechanical wonder as if it was a long-lost favourite toy that Rory had somehow manifested after a century of longing.

"Oh, you're brilliant! How in all the worlds did you find this, you beautiful, wonderful, _marvellous_ creature, you?" he exclaimed, utterly beaming beyond belief; for a moment the male nurse was actively concerned that the Time Lord might actually manage to bend the rules of the universe and crack his face in two halves. Rory found himself giving a vigorous shake of the head in an attempt to physically dispel the disturbing visions of the Doctor's face with a superimposed, bloody smile… like that of the well-known supervillain, 'The Joker' from the much-beloved Batman comics of his youth… the reason he had this little irrational hatred for clowns.

He blinked, realising the Doctor had stopped prattling and was staring at him intently, awaiting his explanation with a concerned frown marring his normally euphoric features… Rory cleared his throat, acting as if his mind hadn't just been wandering a few miles south of the conversation they were having…

"Well, when you and Jack slammed into each other, it kind of shot out of your pocket and whacked Amy in the middle of the forehead as she did a tumble-turn over me, and it just ended up in my hand. Not sure HOW… but it did. Put it in my pocket for when, and if, we ever landed… of course, naturally two seconds later I slam into the engine with all the force of a human cannonball and ended up here somehow." He explained in the most level, calm voice available to him at that very moment, forgoing his normal wild flailing of arms and general gesticulations, given how damaged his right shoulder was feeling.

The Doctor seemed to notice, "Oh Rory, I'm so sorry… first I allow myself to get utterly distracted and forget you, now I'm prattling on and you're hurt! Let me just sonic it to be certain you haven't got a broken bone I need to immobilise before moving you…" he stammered, looking like a large, sad-eyed puppy as his long, slender fingers managed to fiddle with settings and buttons on the sonic screwdriver that Rory couldn't even see… before flicking it out with expert skill and letting it scan.

Green light bathed all over the obviously damaged shoulder joint area…then in a wide arc both up and down the length of his battered body, simply scanning and searching; accompanied by an oscillating high-frequency sound - it could almost be considered a humming noise, but yet… _not_, at the same time- that sort of melded into the background. He was feeling tired again, really tired… and then he was wide awake as the Doctor made a sharp snapping noise as the sonic retracted to its compact form.

The Doctor was frowning, obviously having read some interesting and unsettling reports from his sonic screwdriver. "Well, the good news is your shoulder is only dislocated, not broken in any place… the bad news is, your shoulder is of course, _dislocated_… and I don't particularly fancy having to crack it back in for you. Not to mention hat whack to the head you took… The sonic is convinced you are fine in the head region though, no going _crazy-wazy _for you, Roronicus; not at the moment at least… just let me know if you hear any drumbeats…" He let out an _adorably_ geeky laugh that was mostly wheeze, at his own joke; Rory ending up smiling at the sight, though still confused as to exactly what his Doctor was on about.

"Now, to get you out of here…" the Doctor mused, sobering up immediately as two voices cried out in tandem, one rising above the other to give some sort of command about '_arresting a moment_' or something…

Rory craned his head to see around the Doctor, who was actively blocking his view of the exit to the corridor, and therefore, his entire world view at current was taken up with a gangly nine-hundred year old alien Time Lord... not that he was complaining or anything. The view was quite lovely… few too many clothes, though.

Seconds later, two young men came hovering in ashen-faced on top of a broomstick that appeared to be flying, carrying something in between the pair of them. The redheaded one was muttering to himself rather loudly.

"_He's bloody mental, your flirty friend… just tried to bloody kill himself by jumping down here didn't he? Are you all mad where you come from or did you just win the booby-prize of travelling companions?_"

Apparently the last bit was directed at the Doctor, who looked sheepish. "Er, he's always been a bit that way… I also apologise for any uncomfortable amounts of flirting he has put you through, it's kind of his thing you see…" There came a low whistle from between the two boys, and a blinding flash of gleaming white teeth as a feral smile came to the face of the man the Doctor called Jack…

~)0(~

"Hey, no hurry, I'm loving the view where I am, boys!" he smirked cheekily, having been frozen in mid-leap by the paranoid adolescent magic-wielders and slung across the centre of the broom so his exact viewpoint now scored him a great panorama of the redhead's impressive rear end… and the horrified flush on the brunette's face. This statement received a whack over the head, from Ron, "_Oi_, enough out of you, _you numpty_… or I'll drop you into the Whomping Willow on our way back to the castle…" he threatened.

As much as Jack wanted to make a lewd retort about the precise definition of the word '_Whomping_' in the 51st Century, he stopped short when he realised the Doctor was actually looking at him with a pained expression that cried out for assistance. "Set me down, boys… I have a bit of field medic experience… besides, I haven't had a chance to meet this fellow yet and I certainly would like to make his…_acquaintance_." He emphasised his point with a wink, successfully gaining a disgusted grunt from the redhead, who dropped him off on the tilted –well, wall, but for the sake of sanity he called it a floor- of the narrow access corridor.

Now, it may have been his imagination playing tricks on itself in his immortal old-age, but Jack could have sworn vehemently that the redhead had muttered vehemently, looking affronted, "_Bloody fickle that one, one second he can't get enough of you… the next, he's following the next pretty face he finds… men are such pigs…_" to which Neville, the brunette, appeared to be silently giggling until tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

"You have one determinedly one-track mind, don't you…?" the boy called after him deliberately raising his voice so it echoed off the misplaced walls, floor and ceiling of this strange cave of a corridor, whilst simultaneously snorting in derision and flicking his hair over-dramatically. He was the picture of nonchalant, but Jack knew he had gotten through to the kid's funny bone, because he thought for a brief second that he had seen the redhead's lips form a tiny quirk at their edges, belying his disinterest in the whole flirting situation.

Ron turned to the boy behind him as Jack started striding towards the Doctor, and stated, "Muggles these days, am I right, Neville?" audibly enough for them all to hear. The other boy began to laugh harder, still pink in the cheeks from his giggling fit, but obviously finding whatever it was that Ron had said hilarious…

The temptation was there, pressing insistently in Jack's mind to turn about and demand to know what the hell a _Muggle _was… but again, guilt sent him dashing towards the Doctor.

"Jack, this is Rory… Rory Williams, the boy who waited and former Roman Centurion of the 21st Century. He's also _mine_, so hands off unless you're being helpful and keep your eyes to yourself." Stated the Doctor somewhat firmly and yet at the same time with the same expressive means as if he was reading aloud from a biology textbook on _arthropods_, eyes dangerous and full of meaning where they were directed at the 51st Century man, having learnt all of Jack's tricks - out of necessity for his own sanity (and companion's safety)-over the span of many centuries of friendship.

The Captain didn't even pause to breathe before he smiled cheekily and pushed the boundaries of the alien's patience by asking, "So if he's yours, does that mean I can call dibs on the hot redhead…" he paused to see how the boy on the broomstick's ears turned red, "…_outside_?" he finished, throwing a snarky glance back at Ron, who was scowling.

"No, she's mine too… if there was a way to brand that on them I would… mine, _mine_, **mine**. I don't even care if that's selfish, but you leave them to their own choices… I won't stop them, but you can't do the sexy-eyes, _googly seduction thingy_ you always pull on my companions… Got it? Now help me with Rory." The alien Time Lord threw back seriously, turning his attention almost immediately to the attractive young man in his arms… this 'Rory'.

The man from the 51st Century only just bit back the, _'…but I never touched Donna…'_ retort, because that would be heart-breakingly cruel to watch the Doctor relive that particular previous companion of his, given how it had ended. Instead he bent down, sliding off his long grey standard army-issue trench coat to reveal a pair of navy pants, a light blue working shirt and some deep red suspenders –hey, the Doctor's strange fashion sense rubs off on you after a while, and it's usually not very pretty when it does.

"Alright, I'm sure the sonic told you that's dislocated… don't want to risk setting it wrong so I'm sure our friends with the flying brooms have a way of healing things like that. Best we can do is wrap it up, immobilise the area and simply get him the hell out of here…"

"Oh," he paused, flashing a dazzling smile at the… male nurse? Did he read the outfit right or was there a roleplay in action before he'd snuck aboard in the temporal vortex? "Hi there, I'm Jack Harkness. _Captain_ Jack Harkness… and you are?" Only just retracting the urge to hold out his hand for a standard handshake when he realised that would probably be the least sensible thing to do in this situation; aggravation of serious injuries and all that jazz.

The younger man wheezed out a strained, "Rory… we've met before, but you wouldn't remember, we erased that time altogether… and no, the 'angel from heaven' line doesn't work on me. I can, however, tell you that at one point in an alternate timeline… you had a small tattoo of _a pole-dancing nun_ on your left shoulder that you were endlessly showing off. It was a dare from a night you got roaring drunk and I tried to –_a failed experiment, I was technically 100% plastic at the time_-… during the First World War… interesting times… but that history doesn't exist anymore, like I said. Or as River would put it, 'SPOILERS'… Ironic really…"

Jack blinked, that was a rejection line he'd never heard before. Though, when you were a companion to the Doctor… often the craziest things tended to happen to you, so he was probably being completely honest. Hmmm, a pole-dancing nun, how… sacrilegious, maybe he'd look into it later; could be a conversation starter in future, or at the very least, a hell of an ice-breaker. First things first, though…

"Alright Rory, we're going to wrap you in my trench coat and lift you in a minute, tie the arms shut to try and immobilise your shoulder, so take a deep breath…" he nodded at the Doctor, who pulled the human to his feet, using his rarely-seen extra-human strength that the gangly appearance and general clumsiness of the man belied… but if his time with the Doctor had taught Jack anything… it was that appearances were generally misleading, and often rather deceptive. Like when that sweet old lady had tried to eat them on Sentari Sigma Alpha… he shuddered and turned back to the task at hand to rid his mind of her horrible visage…

Jack knew that the Doctor still, to this day, feared the sound of a pepper grinder…

The younger man groaned, but didn't make any further noise as Jack slipped his coat about him, tucking the injured arm close to the chest in a supported position –_that the younger man adjusted to near-perfect textbook positioning, therefore Jack just had to assume the outfit was real, and not just the Doctor's current kink _– before tying both the arms shut firmly about him.

"Rory, are you alright?" the Doctor whispered in the shorter human's ear, obviously concerned and worried beyond reason after the younger man's welfare, the pallid complexion and grimace obviously inciting his generally-hidden mother hen qualities to the point of actually visibly fretting further the longer Rory stayed silent…

It was unusual to see the normally unflappable Doctor in such a state of utter distress. Although, heaven knows the man always became so emotionally invested in his companions that it was hardly a surprise the time lord would completely flip his calm and collected exterior demeanour when one of them was endangered by his own actions. It was almost comical how easily the man forgot how breakable humans could be…

A small flame of bright white-hot jealousy flared in the depths of Jack's heart, only to be quashed immediately as he realised how selfish that seemed. The Doctor did care about him too, he cared about all his human friends, companions and lovers equally…which made it that much harder for him to let them go; or to lose them to the cruel design of the universe.

Like Rose, and Donna…and now these Ponds; he couldn't bear to think of the day the Doctor lost them to age, time, an accident or one of the Doctor's many, many enemies that dotted the universe. All those companions… but Jack was the special case companion here, the exception to the rule –he was_, for all intents and purposes_, indestructible- while the Gallifreyan's other companions were not. It only stood to reason he worried more for them, given that no matter what… Jack would always bounce back to life with a smile on his lips and a cheesy pick-up line at the ready to fire in the direction of whatever was closest.

Apparently the Doctor was telepathic today, because the eyes that raised up to meet his own were large, dewy in a disturbingly kittenish way, and full of concern for him as well… They seemed to say, '_I really do care about you too, Jack… You are and always will be my companion, but Rory needs me __now__…_' and begged him to understand.

With a sigh, knowing that resisting the puppy-pout facing his direction right now was almost as physically impossible as attempting to eat yourself out of existence –_that was also a wild party dare that hadn't gone very far, despite how easy the gallon or so of Rectalian rum he'd imbibed that evening had made it seem_- Jack gave in and smiled reassuringly.

He went to lift the frighteningly-paleyounger man into a sort of bridal-style configuration, the only lift he could think of that would have the least direct pressure on the damaged left shoulder area… but found himself beaten to it by the a glaring Gallifreyan. Who managed to seem oblivious to the protests of his semi-conscious human companion; Rory was wiggling like a tired worm and was in the midst of the process of attempting to dissuade the alien from treating him 'like a girl'. Unfortunately for the young human, he was also failing miserably, the Doctor seeming to ignore his protests in favour of just keeping him conscious by starting up a witty banter, back and forth to each of the protests as Jack took charge.

"Can you two take him outside on your flying broom thing as you are, or do you need one of us to hold him as you fly?" Jack asked the boys, still hovering uncertainly feet above the floor, just watching them; they frowned, talking amongst themselves a moment before seemingly deciding that yes, they could get Rory out without assistance. The Doctor seemed hesitant to hand over 'his human', but with gentle encouragement was persuaded to reluctantly release Rory into the capable hands of Ron and Neville; who took off sharply skyward with the full glare of the Doctor's concern boring into their backs like twin laser beams.

"We'll send the others back for y-… oh, hello Hermione!" called Neville, over his disappearing shoulder; the other two appearing almost instantly in their stead. The bushy-haired female seemed relieved as the pair landed on the topsy-turvy TARDIS's _floor-wall_, "Oh _there_ you are! When we flew back into the main chamber and saw everyone suddenly, inexplicably missing, well… let's just say I went into full-on first year exams meltdown! Your female companion, Amy… Professor McGonagall has her in her care which means there is no safer place she could be at this very moment with the kinds of injuries she has sustained, but the Professor requested that I inform you both that she has sent for Madam Pomfrey –_oh, she's the School Nurse_- to be fetched from the castle, and expects her to arrive at any moment."

Harry was looking sceptically between the two men, "I don't think my Firebolt can carry all four of us, it's really only built for one or two riders at maximum capacity –and yes, we got away with Amy because she was so light, she barely weighed anything… but let's just see what happens if I take one of you, and Hermione… do you think you could levitate one of them out of here alongside us?" he turned to look at her.

With a finger tapping her lovely pink lips in concentration, the brown-eyed beauty seriously considered it, while also seemingly trying to factor in the strange topography of the main chamber, their current location, the exact alignment of Venus and Jupiter at this very second in opposition to the colour of her underwear, Harry's projected speed and flight path –_so the levitated person wouldn't be accidentally run into things_- and exactly how much concentration would be needed to keep the chosen person in the air…

…given that she couldn't seem to pay attention to the problem at hand with the grand cacophony of tittering girlish thoughts swirling about like a maelstrom within her buzzing mind. It was that blasted Captain, with his rakish good-looks and that seductive 'come-hither' smile he was constantly flashing in her direction like some gorgeous lighthouse built to lure her into shore… The man was _sincerely distracting her ability to think logically_. Kind of like when she was around Ron, but Hermione had thought often and hard upon that very subject and dismissed it as pure frustration at his laid back ideals in regards to hard work and life…

"Yes, I should be able to levitate one of you… provided you do no more than wiggle for the short duration of the ride…" She stated finally, plucking out her vine-wood wand and pointing it directly between the two men, trying to guess at who was best to levitate; but Harry made the decision for her. "Alright, Doctor? You seem lighter –_no offence, Captain_- so I think we can tempt fate by letting you ride with us on the Firebolt; and Hermione will levitate your handsome friend over there…"

As the gangly Doctor did his best to mount the semi-hovering broom, but the resulting display reminded Jack of someone who was wrestling with a bunch of _antarian ants_ in their undergarments… and did his best to stifle the laughter wracking his frame as the visual implanted itself into his imagination, and the two teenagers -Harry and Hermione-were forced to step in and help… before the alien managed to hurt himself.

"No… that leg goes over _here_, Doctor… or-…"

"…Doctor! Careful with that or you might fall off!"

"See, _like sitting on a hors_-… Harry he fell off again."

With a sigh, Harry had one final attempt at helping the taller man to mount the broom –_before his patience utterly snapped in two and he asked Hermione to just levitate the drunken giraffe of a man instead to spare him the frustration_- situating the Doctor in-between the two of them so he could both hold on, and be held on to… It was in the interests of the Doctor's personal safety.

Harry shook his head, rubbing at the bridge off his nose with a sigh of resigned frustration. The man seated behind him seemed to be in a constant state of surprise at his own limbs. How he did actually did or accomplished anything of consequence in the real world was beyond them both.

Still, he slapped on a smile and tried to remain jovial… even if just getting out of here was like trying to babysit Peeves –and boy, that had been a Detention to remember… the Poltergeist had done everything in his power to crush the souls of the Gryffindors guarding him that night.

"All good now, Doctor? Okay, Hermione, now…" Harry stated, breathing a sigh of relief that that nonsense was almost over with and gave an extra-strong kick-off to just get them off the ground; his Firebolt shuddering a moment before deciding it could handle the stress of three simultaneous riders, finally smoothing out their slow ascent.

Meanwhile, broomstick under control, Harry was simply trying to stay steady as the wiggling kitten side of the Doctor burst forth in full-force. "Ooh, how clever!" the man cried, leaning left and right, trying to work out the mechanics of their levitation, "Levitating cleaning supplies, _humans are_ so _clever_, aren't they Jack! What next? Maybe a flying car… of course, you couldn't have them all over the place mind… probably upset the locals…"

Harry blanched as the man continued to talk, thinking back to his second year when he and Ron had taken fate into their own hands and stolen the Weasley family car –a Ford Anglia with a few magical improvements that the Ministry of Magic hadn't exactly approved- and flew it to Hogwarts with the invisibility shield malfunctioning after missing the train to school. Hermione rolled her eyes, directed her wand at Jack, who had seemingly been awaiting the spell that she had failed to cast up until this point having wanted to wait until the broom had climbed higher before using magic to pull the smiling man towards her.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_!" she cried, watching magic pulsed invisibly about the air and gently plucked the man from the ground, Jack rising off of the floor to float just below the Firebolt she was seated upon. For a split-second, the whole scenario gave Hermione the impression that she was flying a large man-shaped kite, but in reverse… given that from a Muggle perspective, he would be seen as flying them…

Naturally trying to explain this confused and rather topsy-turvy logic to a very confused Harry -who was looking at her with some significant concern- while she was gasping and in tears from her own laughter, did nothing to quash the hilarity of the scene. The Doctor did seem to get it too, and smiled in understanding.

In the end, after all of a few seconds, Hermione finally calmed down, wiped her streaming eyes and nodded to Harry, who rolled his emerald green orbs and focused forwards. She failed to notice his swift glance backwards and the smirk upon his lips as he noticed her knew-found method of focusing the invisible stream of magic stretching between her and the floating Captain.

Hermione seeming to suddenly concentrate fiercely on the hovering man's… well, _everything_; and while Harry supposed she was just being thorough, he knew there might be more to it than that…but shrugged, stating "Alright, I'm going to fly us out of here _slowly_… ready?" he asked. She nodded tautly, still watching the man levitating behind them, and he leant slightly into the hardwood of his broom, gently urging it forwards… out of the rotated corridor, and up into a gentle climb towards the open door with golden sunlight shining in.

A swift jerk of the end of the broomstick's shaft turned the travellers upwards, aiming straight towards the light of swiftly-falling evening that beckoned them all to Dinner…

Harry's stomach rumbled, there had better be pie tonight.

~)0(~

"Oh my goodness!" the Transfiguration Professor cried out, alarmed as the first companion of the person who referred to himself as 'the Doctor' emerged from the pit within the Quidditch Pitch, lying limply in the arms of Miss Granger, while the broomstick was carefully piloted by Mister Potter. The young woman was utterly ashen in the face, like one of those 'porcelain dolls' certain muggles seemed so fanatical about collecting and storing in glass cabinets. The poor child only seemed to be half-aware of her surroundings; greeting everything within her field of vision with a hazy smile… including the grass of the Quidditch Pitch and a discarded beater's bat lying several feet to the left of where Potter and Granger hovered on the broomstick. The latter was being cooed at, as if it were an infant…

A stark streak of deep crimson down one side of the young woman's face plainly stated a head injury of some kind, and the unfocused gaze was reminiscent of many a student who had taken a bludger too many to the head during a particularly rough game of Quidditch, or session of practice. A concussion then, nothing too serious, Madam Pomfrey would have it dealt with in mere moments…

Minerva McGonagall stared over her shoulder, wondering where on earth the woman could be –she'd sent her patronus, a sleek silvery cat, streaking away across the grounds several minutes ago, and had yet to witness a response to her urgent summons. With a frown, Minerva addressed the hovering pair, "Well? What are you waiting for, exactly…? Pass her to me and go find what is keeping Longbottom and Weasley… oh, and tell them that Madam Pomfrey will be here in a moment. Do not fail to stress what an _exemplarily gifted healer she is_, to our surprise guests."

As the Head of Gryffindor house took the surprisingly light young lady from the pair, Potter and Granger both flickered their gazes towards a noise occurring from behind her back, emanating from the school and could only deduce –from the flapping of fabric- that Poppy Pomfrey was running swiftly towards them. Lily-white apron tails flailing in the breeze…

Without further ado, the pair steadied the broomstick, Potter whirling it about and down in an impressively skilful manner… and they were gone; back into the gaping hole. Straight through the doorway with all the efficiency of someone threading a piece of thread through the eyelet of a needle on the first try.

Part of Minerva felt her heart sink at the mere thought of her students down there, she might be putting their lives at risk by asking them to help rescue these people; but another part of her was affirming the choice she had made by reassuring her that this was the very epitome of the Gryffindor House's ideology.

To help, to rescue, to boldly go where no one else dare tread, with fearless courage in their heart… such was the ideal of the House she governed; though a slight tremor of concern belied the brave mask she was putting on around her concerns for the safety of all involved. Her distraction yielded nothing, and so the Deputy Headmistress pushed it aside, kneeling gracefully to place the woman's body on the ground, resting the head of glorious red hair upon her arm. As the redhead failed to focus upon her, McGonagall again glanced about with a pensive expression upon her face.

Perhaps her patronus had yet to reach the Headmaster? Surely he would be here by now if he had-… A silvery cat came leaping back across the grounds from the castle in her direction; slowing only to keep pace alongside the flustered force that was the School Healer, Madam Pomfrey. Both were across the Quidditch Pitch from her at this very moment, staring intently at her; Minerva could practically feel the Healer casting inaudible scanning and biological assessment charms from that distance away.

With a great rush of air, Madam Pomfrey appeared at her side, dropping to her knees and running her sparking wand all over the young woman in McGonagall's arms; who seemed downright fascinated by the 'pretty little lights' trailing yellow shape trails in her field of vision. Poppy hummed, "_Mmm_, most certainly a concussion… no skull fractures anywhere that I can tell of, and my charm is fairly potent at detecting problems like that –probably for the best, re-growing bones is a nasty business. Slight bruising down her back, but I'd say a sip of pepper-up potion, a quick healing hex to dispel the concussion, an anti-nausea charm for the pregnancy and some dinner will go a long way." She was muttering to herself, but Minerva caught the last line and stared at Poppy in disbelief.

"Are you certain, Poppy? Is the child alright after an injury like that?" she questioned, honestly not certain whether she was referring to the young woman or her unborn child; everyone was young in comparison to McGonagall, except perhaps, Professor Dumbledore. Before an answer was given, something rubbed insistently at her elbow and she looked down to find her patronus standing relaxedly at her side; purring contentedly and watching with liquid silver eyes, politely waiting to impart a message.

She stroked it's partially intangible head, smiling as it reacted as though it were a real cat… leaning into her hand and increasing the sound of contented purring filling the darkening air. Then the moment was gone, and it sat down sharply… and then, in the clear voice of McGonagall herself, reiterated the message Dumbledore had given to respond to Minerva's urgent missive. "_Visitors, excellent. Make them Welcome, Dinner starts in ten minutes, and the House Elves have informed me it will be a most delectable chicken dish._" With that, the patronus dissolved into silvery wisps and dispersed.

Sometimes, Minerva questioned the flippant nature with which Dumbledore often regarded serious matters, but he was the Headmaster and she would do all in her power to follow his command. The Deputy Headmistress felt a sudden chill down her spine and looked upwards, realising that evening was falling rapidly upon them; cool breezes tugged playfully at her robes and those of Madam Pomfrey. Relinquishing the girl to Poppy completely, wondering after where her students had gone, the Professor was just about to yell down into the gaping hole marring the Hogwarts sports grounds… when up shot Masters Weasley and Longbottom. The latter was gingerly holding onto a slightly older young man wrapped tightly in a long, grey coat; almost as pale as the other companion of the Doctor's.

Speaking of the young woman, she was already sitting up and blinking rapidly to clear the fuzz from her mind; it seemed Poppy's hipflask of Pepper-up potion was just the thing to wake one up from just about anything. Speaking of strong batches…

There had been a rather strong batch that Madam Pomfrey had brewed many, many years back when the entire castle had fallen prey to a rather malicious cold epidemic, that Minerva still vehemently advocated having had the potency to wake even the dead themselves. One sip of the concoction was enough to have her levitating off her sick bed and doing laps around the Great Lake with the majority of the other members of Faculty, who had all been treated first to avoid the students sighting such an unusual occurrence.

Ah, but those had been younger days… a different set of hips to the creaky ones she owned now; almost a full lifetime ago. Often in the dark of evening when they were sitting by a fireside discussing the school and the past, Dumbledore would bring it up just to watch the reactions of the remaining faculty who remembered or participated, in 'the Event'.

"Rory?" the redheaded woman was almost instantly awake, scrambling to gain an upright position to get to the other –whom Ron and Neville were helping slide off the broom- as Madam Pomfrey forcefully insinuated that she was to **SIT** by pushing on her shoulders rather insistently. The young man, -'Rory' as it were- was assisted to walk over and sit beside her… allowing Poppy to gain access to him; spells, charms and diagnostic hexes were being flung in all directions, despite his protests of, 'It's just a dislocated shoulder, I'll be fine…'

It was only when Madam Pomfrey had had enough of his protesting that she muttered audibly, "Well young man, I was simply being thorough… looking for any unexpected surprises… who knows, _you might be pregnant too_ for all I know!" she left it open there as Rory looked at the woman with an incredulous expression. She was looking right back with the same face… then burst out laughing, "Hah, knowing the Doctor it _could_ be possible!" and lost it completely… laughing hysterically into the grass; those watching put it down to shock.

'GERONIMO!' cried a loud voice as the final set of students appeared from inside the overturned Police Box. Miss Granger apparently towing a fourth passenger while Mister Potter's expression clearly read how _very close_ to tossing the man behind him off a cliff he was. The Doctor appeared to be excitably chatting and flailing his limbs, almost as if he still had yet to comprehend that he was _actually flying_… or that he had just realised that they were, and was unsure how to express the sheer joy he felt at the knowledge.

With a more awkward touchdown than earlier, Potter landed the broomstick and disembarked; the Doctor sort of falling off sideways in slow motion and leaping back up with a mildly confused expression of utter joy on his face, like he honestly had meant to do that. Hermione's raised wand was slowly lowered, directing the rather handsome man on the opposing end of her levitation charm towards the ground with great care. He beamed, "That was quite exciting, thank you… Miss Granger."

His attention quickly went to the huddled companions being watched over by Madam Pomfrey, "Hey Doc, you might want to look to your Ponds… when you're done doing-… whatever it is you are doing with your sonic flashlight." The jibe was intentional, obvious even to the observers who had no idea what he was on about; Jack couldn't help but beam as the tall alien whirled about with a saddened expression, "It's screwdriver Jack, you know that… a sonic screwdriver… and for your information, I was trying to work out why this particular stretch of field is registering as a time-space anomaly. Complicated stuff, but basically if you imagine reading a book, and someone has taken a page out of another book and pasted it in there, but the story is still ongoing… that's what's happening right now."

The companion called Jack nodded, "Okay, I can get that." Causing the Doctor to beam widely, and state rather officiously, "Good! Because it's actually nothing at all like that…" and ducking as Jack threw a clod of dirt at him with a good-natured scowl on his face.

The Doctor whirled about to grin at the Ponds for his cleverness, and was forced to duck somewhat comically as something small, round and determined came flying at his head; in the dimming light of day it was almost impossible to make out what it had been, or where it was currently. He opened his mouth to ask, hands gesticulating in the direction of the darkly-coloured sphere… but noted how disturbed the four teenagers surrounding them looked. He swallowed thickly, "Oh, I'm going to take it that whatever that was is NOT a good thing…"

Harry was sighing in exasperation, "That's a Bludger, part of the game of Quidditch… it's main aim is to take you out, knock you off your broom or cause serious damage to any player it can hit. I told the two new Beaters -Cootes and Peaks- to catch the damn thing after it went rogue in practice today," he faced McGonagall to iterate the next part, "We think it may have been a Slytherin prank…"

A serious expression adorned the Doctor's face as he flicked the small, glowing pen-like apparatus in his hand; appearing to use it to scan the sky as the rest of the group glared about in readiness to disintegrate the rogue playing equipment. Undulating noises erupted from the stick, as the Doctor cried out in triumph, taking aim at something that the little device had certainly locked onto and blanched for a mere second before regaining his composure. Something small exploded just over the head of his younger male companion, whom Madam Pomfrey was fussing over… -and arguing with, given he was having none of her 'magic' when he knew the science behind human anatomy and healing.

"Now hold your breath dear, I'm going to pop your shoulder into place with a quick relocation spell, but that vial I gave you a moment ago should muffle the sensation of most of it. In three, two… now…" she stated, tapping lightly on his damaged shoulder joint as Rory quickly inhaled; a sharp, somewhat sickening click signified his shoulder had reset itself into the correct area. Though the School Healer was far from done, a simple relocation spell wasn't the only thing in her arsenal! Poppy Pomfrey began diligently tracing her wand around in intricate patterns over the injured area; smiling in satisfaction as the swelling and angry bruising visibly disappeared before their eyes until it was nothing but a faint imprint on the pale skin.

Professor McGonagall could no longer continue on as an observer, "Doctor, would you be so kind as to introduce us to your companions now their lives are no longer under threat from their injuries? I feel we can leave the 'how you got here' tale until after we have all returned to the castle, it will be Dinner shortly… And do not worry about clothing or accommodations, these have already been provided for you –if I know Professor Dumbledore, and I do."

The Doctor clapped his hands together excitedly, "Ah yes, everyone… this is Amy and Rory Pond –_yes Rory, face it, you're a Pond_," he said quickly as the other opened his mouth to protest –also giving Madam Pomfrey an opening to pour some Pepper-up Potion down his throat…

"Those two are from the 21st Century earth, well… _sort-of_, there was this time-issue and the universe exploded which meant he was a two thousand year old Roman and she was trapped in a giant black box called _the Pandorica_, that he was guarding all that time… Er, I'll explain all of that later. And this is Captain Jack Harkness, a time-traveller who originates from the 51st Century… he kind of has this thing for anything with a pulse, or something approximating it –different species, different exobiologies and all that…"

He paused, "And I'm the Doctor, last of my people… that is to say, the people of the planet _Gallifrey –it's about 250 million light years from Earth, practically at the centre of the universe… or should I say was? _Not to mention, I also won the double-booby prize of being the last of the Time Lords as well! The majority of my people were mostly destroyed in a Time War with a somewhat stuck-up race called the Daleks –_nasty creatures, sort of like giant Salt shakers with a plunger and a whisk attached_… Never seen them in this universe…? No? Lucky you then… and all the surviving Time Lords have been wiped out, -_exterminated_ you could say, since the war. Well, that's all of us. Behind us is the TARDIS, I'll explain her later. Right now I'm starving… your mysterious vanishing cat said something about chicken…?"

Judging from the utterly shocked expressions of those surrounding them, he may have just accidentally tilted their world view on its ear. Whoops! Well, no time for that now, he was really quite hungry after all that excitement… and that castle seemed to be fairly glowing a warm welcome in the deepening darkness…

Professor McGonagall put a tight smile to her lips, attempting to be both welcoming and somehow process the multitude of information that had just been shared. "Well, Doctor, Amy, Rory, and Captain Harkness… or do you prefer Jack?" she queried, receiving a polite '_Jack is fine_' from the young man and, quite the charming smile that fairly had the students –all four, _not just the blushing Miss Granger, or strangely-flustered Mister Weasley_- swooning. "Jack, then…it is an honour to meet you even under such unusual circumstances, certainly, but shall we adjourn to the castle for Dinner?"

Harry, silent this whole time, rolled his eyes at the over-exaggerated pleasantries… stomach making audible growling noises at him from under his robes. He was just about to part his suddenly-parched lips to ask Hermione, Ron and Neville if they wanted to just head back to the castle, when a searing pain filled his head… the lightning scar on his forehead burning with a near-blinding fire for no more than a split-second before it was gone again. Leaving the Chosen One questioning whether it had even occurred at all, or was just an imaginative representation of the sensations coming from his empty stomach.

Hermione was glancing his way in concern… Oh, so it had been real after all. He shook his head and smiled goofily to indicate nothing was wrong, tilting his head towards the castle to ask if they should go; but he received a shush signal in response, she was utterly _fascinated _by the newcomers and willing to wait for dinner in order to stay near them. Sometimes he wondered why the Sorting Hat hadn't placed her in Ravenclaw…

In the interim, something seemed to shift in the visitors. Amy glanced up at the castle, something of a faint recognition flaring within both her own eyes, and those of Rory, as he asked, "Where… _exactly_… are we?" Something unsaid lingering in the question, like an idea awaiting confirmation.

"Why, this is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, my dear…" said Madam Pomfrey kindly as they gaped. The Doctor seemed inexplicably pleased, and Jack was confused but latched onto the realisation… "But, that's _impossible_…"

The Doctor was bouncing off the walls like a Tigger, "You'd better believe it, Jack… HOGWARTS! _BRILLIANT_! Now, Come along Ponds, race you to the castle!" he cried and took off, his companions climbing unsteadily to their feet behind him and taking off after his disappearing figure –despite the loud admonishments of Madam Pomfrey echoing in the empty stillness surrounding the pitch. Drowned out by the sounds of the racing trio's laughter and childish taunts…

As the small group of native Hogwartians turned to the solitary remaining companion in anticipation, Jack merely shrugged, smiled and stated, "I was giving them a headstart… just to be fair…" and ran surprisingly quickly after the other three -who were making excited noises from halfway to the castle.

There was no need to voice the thought that swilled almost telepathically between the remaining persons in standing upon the Quidditch Pitch, because they were all thinking it…

_These Alien Muggles are Crazy…_

~)0(~

* * *

To Be Continued...

* * *

Coming Up Next: **Chapter 5: Rock Salt Revelations & Ferret Baiting**

Please Review if you feel like it... starting to question if anyone is actually reading this...

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


	5. Chapter 5: Rock Salt Revelations & Ferre

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the mentioned fandoms, or the associated characters, this waswritten because reasons.**

**This chapter is dedicated to Amy James & The Supreme Evil Overlord of the Universe, Peeves.**

The only two people who are reading this, apparently.

Enjoy you two.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Rock Salt Revelations & Ferret Baiting**

~)0(~

* * *

Flame blossomed into blinding red-white plumes as the air was rent with a crackling roar, and the almost-smug _snuk-click_ of someone flicking a metallic cigarette lighter shut. Something approached down a tunnel It had hewn from the bare earth with Its own talons, a place to hang the prey until it was ripe for the eating… damp, dark, safe. Or so It had thought…

~)0(~

_It should not have gone for the tantalising bait, a pretty pair of humans with offspring, just waiting within the woods for it to collect… _

So young, so fresh… they smelled delicious; the male had fought, oh yes… but It was far faster and stronger than any human. It did not mind occasionally eating the dead ones… and the male's neck was snapped with only a single blow to silence the female and screaming offspring.

The female, though… so _succulent_… her aroma had called those who scented it to a feast of soft flesh - though the small ones with her had not been of any significant size and seemed not any great delicacy. It had left them damaged, but alive…

It had liked when they screamed; the fear in the female's eyes as she cried for them to run from the monster… though she could not know that It did not want them. She had only fought when it attempted to hang her up in the storage chamber, full of cool, earthen mud to keep the meat fresh; tying intricate knots about slender wrists had frightened the female. She had fought… but not enough, asking It _why_ it would do this to her… what It wanted… and always asking after what It was. Though, it was only when the female had screamed, '**_Who are you_**?!' that it really paused. No prey had ever asked before… and it had no answer.

This had puzzled It somewhat.

It had no name for the form it occupied… and any human recollections of a birthname had long since passed from it's mind over the thousands of years hunting two-legged prey. The questions had made It feel like a_ deep red_… what It understood was to feel angered. Finding itself punishing the female by raking a handful of long, sharpened talons across the soft face… drawing fragrant, sticky crimson blood that allured, and tempted, with the sweet scent. The female shuddered as It had lapped the red liquid from the wounds -the salt from her frightened tears intermingling and leaving an exotic aftertaste…

It had enjoyed her horror, her pain; and It had particularly enjoyed making her watch as it devoured the male, piece by piece…

Oh yes, It had gloated as It tore into the only just-dead flesh of the male, liking the pained screams and attempts to look away from It feasting…

Liked that the female had understood the food chain; knew that she was next, and that It _hungered_ with an almost mindless predatorial passion for her flesh. Still, one human female was not enough… winter was coming, more prey must be collected and stored before It could again hibernate for another few decades.

Such instincts for flesh and self-preservation being an ironic downfall.

It had tried to take two of those who hunted It's kind, the ones who brought fire, pain and death; had hurt one of them, but the weapons the humans had possessed retaliated by biting into the stretched white flesh of Its hide with sharp, metal teeth. Displeased, It could only retreat to the underground lair in hopes of safety, green thoughts of greed and doom plaguing It's tormented mind; so hungry, always hungry… the female would not be enough, the male had barely sated the burning ache inside.

It _needed_ those two humans out there, had to have them… one scented slightly wrong, like a marked creature, but seemed still delectable; the other tall and flavoured with a hint of demon…

Once, long ago, It had tasted demon flesh… the memory still made the creature salivate.

The last hunt had been Its downfall, the humans coming after, tracking It had followed. They were in Its lair, beady little eyes burning like the fire It so feared; their rage palpable in the charged atmosphere of the underground cavernous labyrinth. The female's screams had distracted them. It let them have her, practically lead them to the storage chamber in the slender chance that maybe then they would leave and let It continue to hunt after the next hibernation…?

But the Hunters had not taken the female, they had instead paused to ascertain she was alive, ignored her screaming and continued on after It; such behaviour puzzled the creature, and it felt a deep yellow forming in the pit of Its growling stomach…

Fear. It felt Fear at their approach.

The chase was short, the paths of earth only partially formed and many collapsed or unfinished tunnels blocked all chance of escape. It was cornered…

~)0(~

Terrified shrieking burst forth from the throat of something that had once been human, as the flames grew closer and began to warm the cold, pale waxen flesh of the creature with their proximity. Something sadistic within the older of the two brought a sardonic smirk to his face as he realised that –after all this time, and everything the creature had done- it was finally afraid of something. _It_ was afraid of **_them_**. Ironic that now it felt as Its countless thousands of victims throughout the long centuries had feared it… just before It tore their flesh apart and devoured them as they screamed in agony and sheer terror.

A Wendigo, that was the creature's name; something that started out human, usually born in times of severe starvation and famine, when the only thing left to eat… is the dead piling about the streets. What starts as a survival instinct slowly evolves them into this… supernatural killing machine. Always hungering after the flesh of other human beings…

The creature is fast and intelligent enough to capture those who strayed into Its domain, or to trick them into solitude so it might take them more easily. A neat trick they develop, mimicry… damn things can copy the sound of anything they hear, often luring humans into the woods with the sounds of a crying child… or the voices of one of Its earlier victims.

The main downside to being a Wendigo, was the face… _once you eat flesh, there's no holding back the truckload of Ugly that's about to run you over_, as Dean once put it. Wendigos are cursed with a visage so horrible they appear to look like a giant melting candle…

Then again, there are a few perks that make it so hard to kill the damn things; like the superspeed, a predator's cunning intelligence, mimicry -and not to mention, hands equipped with some pretty handy hardware for slicing and dicing people up. Mind and body now so utterly twisted beyond recognition by endless centuries of cannibalism, that the only thing human about it… was the contents of Its stomach.

It writhed away from the flames in jerky zig-zag motions, like someone attempting to evade the Grim Reaper. The grotesque eight-foot creature twisted it's long, thin, gangly body at unnatural angles –for a humanoid… Pressing back against the solid earthen wall of Its subterranean lair in despair, finding no way out of the collapsed tunnel they'd managed to trap it in with a bit of skilled manoeuvring.

'Manoeuvring' of course, being a euphemism for '_run at it from both ends of the tunnel Its trapped in and see what happens_', which had prompted the creature to throw itself blindly down a third, half-hidden tunnel almost completely obscured in the darkness. This surprise bolt hole intersected the other two in a wonky T-junction shape, but a stroke of luck allowed for the creature's daring escape to be halted by irony. At some point during Its previous hibernation, the tunnel had collapsed in on itself. Effectively blockading the Wendigo in the small, damp area with them…

Sure, it _could_ have used Its superhuman speed and strength to take them out… but the homemade flame-throwers standing between them and It definitely added a little weight to the non-verbal argument for the Pro-'_stay the hell where you are_' side. Also serving to add a flair of the dramatic to the whole proceedings. Not that Dean was complaining… because –_for an extremely hypothetical example_- if Cas was watching right now, the older Winchester was pretty sure that he-…uh, _they_ had to be looking _pretty damn awesome_ right about now…

Long, sharp knife-like talons raked the wall behind it, scrabbling for some form of escape or traction so it might use the superhuman speed it possessed to climb away or trick the Hunters long enough to disembowel them…

Dean tutted at it, "Not gonna work there, bub… honestly, give up." He took aim with his flame-thrower, having only been previously teasing the creature about burning it to a cinder; the image of the skeletons piled all throughout this subterranean labyrinth was enough to make him gag a little. And that was saying something, given he'd literally been to Hell and back, more than once…

Not to mention the fear on the brunette woman's face where she hung in some sort of freaky Wendigo fridge chamber; he felt bad about leaving her there, but logistically if they were chasing the creature from here to infinity and beyond, it couldn't kill her, right? She was safe as long as the damn thing was running for Its miserable life from someone who wanted to watch it's world burn…

There would be no escape from the two young men who stood holding onto their make-shift flame-throwers; fire billowing from the metallic cylinders' spouts in their hands… though not as dangerous the crackling, malevolent flames that burned in their eyes. No mercy would be shown… it was kill or be killed here. An end to centuries of death and horror; before their eyes a twisted parody of life played – where the predator became the prey, here at the end of things.

With a last nails-down-a-chalkboard screech, the creature succumbed to the flames that were now licking at Its rancid white flesh… searing across the taut, powerful body and destroying a creature that should never have been created.

The Hunter had become the Hunted… and It had lost.

~)0(~

Sam had found the original police report by accident while checking on a lead about missing campers in the area. '_Adeline Reynolds, 26, went missing with her husband James Reynolds on a camping trip, both children rescued by forest rangers yesterday after alleged bear attack leaves them injured and hysterical. Campground and surrounding area shredded with significant blood splatter, supporting wild animal attack theory; no bodies have been recovered. Authorities are still investigating. _'

Seventh person to go missing in as many weeks… the trail was still fresh, though; a good time to hunt whatever the hell was taking these unhappy campers and turning them into trail mix.

Further technological excavation revealed that the same thing happened about three and a half decades ago - except that the last time there had been a total of twelve people mysteriously vanishing into thin air; leaving behind nothing more than utterly shredded campsites and blood splatters. With police reports from the time period being insanely hard to locate or unfiled, Sam was forced to con his way into the local station with his 'Agent Mulder' FBI badge just to try and find their hard-copy versions.

On the downside, the aged receptionist seemed to have developed a strange infatuation for him –that Dean would not stop laughing about- but on the upside, he'd managed to hit paydirt. There were cartons of old files, some dating back over the last century or so, of reports from locals detailing the mysterious disappearances that plagued the region periodically; while the majority were unhelpful in the extreme, they all stated various theories about the disappearances.

Most agreeing that there was a high probability the cause for the sudden spate of missing persons was the work of a particularly territorial grizzly bear –which was not unheard of 'roundabout these parts; although the limited members of the local forest patrols and police made it difficult to investigate any of the cases in depth. Many of these cases were dismissed offhand, bar a few of the unusual ones where people living close to the forest were taken from their homes. _Locked_ homes with no visible signs of breaking and entering. Like something just, _picked the lock_… _turned the doorknob_, and **_walked right in…_**

Dean had made a distasteful joke about opportunity knocking, until the damn Bat-glare that Sam was broadcasting in his direction stopped his laughter mid-chuckle…

Needing more information, Sam had tapped away at his laptop keyboard long into the night –driving Dean freaking nuts- as he went further and further back through the history of the small town, looking for any unusual occurrences and folklore that might confirm what both the Winchesters were thinking was hunting around these woods. Easily discovering a horrifying pattern of abductions, missing people and fatal 'bear attacks' stretching back into the past.

Each spate of killings or 'abductions' appeared to occur in thirty-five year increments, just like clockwork. Always twelve people, adults mainly… but one particularly harsh winter far back in the 1800's it appeared a rather large boy, the son of a local rich family, had been taken with both his parents… probably out of desperation on the creature's part, given that not many ventured into the woods during that time. Most of the town was dead at that time, anyways, but the fact remained that the thing had somehow marched into a well-guarded manor and dragged that family out, the rest of the villagers none-the-wiser until morning.

That showed a deep and resounding confidence in Its own abilities and a well-honed knowledge of Its hunting grounds… not to mention an almost-frightening intelligence in whatever-the-hell this thing was. Dean had glanced up from under his pillow with an eye half-open, looking to Sammy to confirm his suspicions of what this camper-crazy carnivore could be. All signs pointed towards this… creature of the woods… being a Wendigo.

Dean had naturally been all for going _Rambo_ on the creature's ass, kicking down the door with guns blazing no questions asked… but Sam felt the need to be more cautious; their last meeting with a Wendigo hadn't exactly gone well… his impulsive older brother nearly being eaten by it –only saved by, of all things, a big bag of candy. Very Hansel and Gretel, that hunt… though the 'breadcrumbs' in that particular tale had been of a rather more brightly-coloured and chocolaty variety.

Still, one thing seemed to strike a chord within both the brothers, resounding with a trembling sort of horror at the implications of Sam's findings; only seven people had been taken so far. Which means the thing wasn't finished feeding yet… but Dean would rather be damned –_again-_ if anyone thought for a single second that he was going to let this carnivorous son of a bitch get Its last midnight snack before bedtime.

And so, they had hunted... trapped it like the animal it was, and set the world about it afire. Flames consuming the warped body in a magnificent, yet kind of disturbing to watch scene… It had screamed until the end, but for some reason it just wasn't as satisfying as either of them would like to have admitted to one another.

Something gave in Dean's heart as he realised the creature was dead, "Hey… HEY!" he called out, catching the flagging attention of his younger –_though infuriatingly taller_- brother, "Sam, enough… damn thing's deader than your sex life!"

He took the glare that quip earned him with a smug smirk. At least Sam had shut off his flamethrower, the almost fixated 'hunter' stare softening to that of the baby brother he knew and loved now it was focused on him, and not the charred pile of stinking flesh on the cave floor. Though he'd never admit it to anyone –_except maybe Cas, but then again… he was an Angel, and apparently friggin' psychic or something_- but sometimes it really scared him how damn intense Sammy got when they were dealing with day-to-day monsters and baddies.

Still, Sam discarded the near-empty flamethrower's metallic container carelessly into the sloshy mud of the cave floor, blinking as a spray of mud flicked back up with a vengeance and got both of them. "Dude!" Dean cried in mock outrage, raising both arms in consternation, glaring as his favourite jacket was flecked in muddy refuse –that Dean was desperately attempting not to picture being full of decomposed human remains. "Oh, _that is it_!" he yelled at the smug smirk on Sam's face, scooping up a handful of the slop and tossing it at him. "How do _you _like it?"

A face-full of slop later and Sam was laughing like he did when they were kids, leaving Dean no other recourse than to grin cheesily and plot petty revenge for later –when the moose of a man slept. The job they did wasn't pretty, but hell, somebody's got to do it…

Didn't mean they couldn't find time to enjoy the little things while on the job. Oh, crap… the job! Here they were acting like a pair of punk kids without a care in the world, when they'd completely forgotten about that brunette woman tied up in the Wendigo fridge. She was probably terrified…

Seemed Sammy was thinking along the same straight lines, because Dean found he didn't even need to open his mouth and say the words before they were both in motion. A trail of dropped glowsticks –Sam's idea, some sort of _Hansel and Gretel_ thing going on in the kid's head that Dean felt only a trained psychologist would be able to understand when this escapade was brought up sometime in the future- lead their way back through the insane amounts of twists and turns of the subterranean lair.

In truth, it was the muffled screaming that really helped to guide the brothers to where the woman –Adeline- was being held captive; the brunette practically burst into tears upon sighting them. Silvery tears cutting through the layers of grime, dirt and blood flecks caking her intensely pale features; she appeared exhausted, but with the same heightened senses of any other scared animal…

Dean immediately flicked out his pocket knife, and slowly moved towards her, repeating over and over that they were there to help her, she was safe, the Wendigo was dead… and all those other tedious things that victims of the supernatural needed to hear. Sam was already by the woman's side, untying the gag of cloth the creature had apparently jammed in her mouth at some point; arms encircling the thin, shaking body and taking the strain of her surprisingly light bodyweight as Dean hacked at the ropes binding bleeding and torn wrists to the cave ceiling.

"_M-my children… a-are my ch-children…? It ate him… oh god, I couldn't stop watching… My poor James, how do I t-tell the ch-childr-… _oh god, thank you. _Thank you both_, I-I thought I would be n-next! Is that thing d-dead?" Adeline gasped, glancing frantically about like a caged animal, eyes averted from the mostly-devoured carcass lying across the room from them.

"Both of your sons are fine Adeline, come on, let's get you back to them. It's really dead, we got it, so don't worry about that…" Sam said kindly, smiling in a strangely reassuring manner that had Dean on edge; it was downright creepy actually, and he shuddered involuntarily imagining that grin coming over the top of a box of cereal in the mornings. Far too cheerful given the Wendigo had nearly put the chomp on them both in the first leg of their pursuit through the woods - damn thing and it's stupid abilities to mimic crying children… he'd fallen for the trap like a Grade A sap.

To ease the distressed woman's mind, they'd detonated a few explosives in the entrance tunnel, collapsing it in upon itself. Only after checking through the various other small chambers branching off the main tunnels for any other unfortunate victims being 'stored' for later consumption -sadly reporting nothing but skeletons and some freshly mauled carcasses. Dean couldn't help but feel the same guilt he saw swirling in his brother's eyes… if they'd just been a day earlier, then maybe…

He shook his head savagely as they trudged through the forest, past wrecked campsites both old and new. You had to let it go, or the '_what if's'_ and guilt would drive you mad; focus on the positives of the job and you could sleep at night without the screams of the ones you couldn't save ringing through your dark dreams.

Still, all things considered, a good outcome to today's hunt. Two kids -a pair of young brothers- had got their mother back from an unpleasant fate; a cannibalistic creature was finally put down after centuries of tyranny and their motel room's mini-fridge was full of beer. He could practically hear it calling him now… or maybe that was his exhausted mind playing tricks on him… _definitely _wouldn't be the first time something like that had happened. He cringed, recalling this one hunt down in Texas last year where he'd managed to catch a strong case of sunstroke while chasing a _Djinn_ through the desert and getting lost for what felt like a week…

Sam had found him six hours later talking to a cactus about the proper way to _gank_ a 'Tooth Fairy'. Damn moose had never let him forget about it, either…

Dean was so tired he barely remembered the trek back to where they'd left the Impala, almost mellow enough to forgive the surrounding trees for dropping leaves, twigs and other shit on his baby. _Almost._ He _did_ take a pot shot or two at some birds who decided to fly over and mess up his windshield…

Sam climbed into the front seat with all the dexterity of a four-legged octopus and checked the emergency police radio they'd been given by local law enforcement–_let's face it, it was a walkie-talkie, the local police were only a small unit anyway-_ calling in that they'd found the missing woman and needed an ambulance to meet them at the nearest ranger's cabin as it was the closest building that could be accessed by any form of road. Adeline was folded into the backseat, curling in upon herself and falling asleep for what appeared to be the first time since she was taken, not stirring the whole way back to the semi-civilisation of the forest ranger's summer cabin. The cabin itself was noteworthy as it usually housed the emergency ranger response unit… but instead was a bloody, clawed and destroyed mess… they had been the very first victims of the creature when the 'need to feed' had come upon it after awakening from hibernation. The insanely large entourage of flashing lights and officious people awaiting them managed to distract the eye from where the door to the cabin had been torn off and flung so hard and far, that it was now lodged impressively within the trunk, several metres straight up, of a tall pine.

"I don't know how you boys did it, but thank you… you saved a woman's life today, and ensured two little boys still have a mother. Couldn't even begin to imagine what it'd be like for them to have to grow up without one, you did good, agents." One female deputy had stated smiling genuinely as Adeline was rolled away into a waiting ambulance; obviously not realising the deep and profound impact of her words on the brothers. Dean managed to force a stiff smile to his face as they climbed back into the car, revving the engine before hanging out the rolled-down window of the Impala to say, "All part of the job. Ma'am…"

With that… and a last cheeky wink thrown at the busty officer, they drove away, job done. Day saved.

Bed calling.

~)0(~

Some kind of alien language was being mumbled at him from across the room, instantly putting Dean on full alert; his hand was already reaching beneath the pillows to clasp about the hilt of the demon-killing knife stowed beneath, when his brain snapped the world into sharp focus. An alarm clock was searing the blindingly red numbers 3:03am into his eyeballs from across the room, everything else seemed dead silent until… _there it was again_.

"Dean, that noise is being made by Sam… I do believe he is asking for someone called Mister Spock for more 'tribble pie' –although I may be mistaken- in the language humans identify as 'Vulcan'…Seemingly from the deck of some form of interstellar pirate ship." said a soft, though somewhat bland, voice from behind him. Instinct told the older Winchester to flip over, whip the knife out to slam it home into the ribcage of whatever was behind him - to protect Sammy like he had always strived to do- but experience halted his more frighteningly instinctual homicidal tendencies, recognising the voice as that belonging to Castiel.

Sure enough, when the Winchester turned about, there was Cas, in all his trench-coated glory just casually sitting on the end of his bed as if it were the most natural thing to do at insane times of morning. "Cas, were you reading my mind again…?" he asked, glancing warily at the angel, who stood and turned about with what he probably assumed was a chagrined look upon the handsome face.

"I have already told you Dean, I do not possess the 'telepathic angel powers' you continuously believe I do. However, it became apparent that Sam's mumbling was disturbing your sleep and irritating you over a long period of time…. Therefore I merely listened in upon Sam's dream, just before you woke fully, to inform you that your concerned actions were unnecessary." Cas stated with all the excitement of a weather forecaster predicting that the world was ending at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon, along with a slight chance of it raining dolphins.

Dean shook his head, realising his internal monologue's analogies were no longer making sense, but to be fair… it was three am in the friggin' morning, and he was no Shakespeare.

Something about his statement struck Dean as odd, "Wait, watching us sleep over _how long_ a period, exactly…? And for that matter, what the hell are you doing here? _I haven't-_… _We _haven't seen you in over a month, what could possibly be _that_ important you'd just ditch us like that to go gallivanting off in the clouds with your angel-buddies?" he was slightly incensed now.

The angel actually did appear to be grasping the concept of facial expressions quite well now, given that he had what could only be described as that of a sad puppy, aimed with deadly accuracy at the older Winchester.

"Dean you know things in Heaven are not that simple, angels are not what humans believe them to be, the images of naked cherubim floating about the heavens playing harps was a falsity leaked to mankind as a joke centuries ago. We are soldiers first… fighting the hordes of demons and worse who threaten humanity. I… could not get away from the battles raging in the space between this world and that of the monsters, but I thought of you often… and now the fighting has ceased temporarily, I could come back for you. _Both of you._ An order from high up the chain of command has been given to make you aware of a significantly large crisis that is occurring as we speak." He paused to glare into the distance, contemplating something in his mind.

Lightning flashed in the window, signalling an impending thunderstorm was about to coat the world in a haze of heavy rain… also that he was still conscious despite every fibre of his being wanting him not to be. Dean stared at the angel expectantly, waiting for the remainder of the explanation so he could go back to sleep; Cas did not disappoint.

"Something within this universe has created a jagged rift between this one and the next, which has allowed a strange series of alien creatures cross through the intersection points. The creatures are skilled warriors, and have the vast majority of the hordes of Heaven busy waging war against them in an attempt to destroy them before they reach Earth. Although many of the creatures have already fallen a great legion still remain; they will be dealt with swiftly, and are, however, not the main issue. That none in Heaven can shed any light on the creatures' origins, what they are exactly or even how they came to possess the technology to breach the universes, is. Those above me in the legion of Heaven's Army have decided that, given you and your brother's unique skillset of experiences in starting, creating and finishing Apocalypses, they have assumed that makes you the foremost experts in '_weird shit that happens in angeldom'_ as you would put it."

The light coloured trenchcoat rustled in the gloom as Cas strode over to stand by the foot of the other bed in the motel room, filled with a still-sleeping Sam; the younger Winchester completely out of it after the long day. Not to mention the big nerd had spent all the previous night awake searching for reports and geographical locations on the net and was sleeping off that techno-binge on top of his exhaustion.

"You two are the only humans I could turn to at this time, but when I arrived to ask for your assistance in this matter as per my orders, you were both deeply asleep… Given that your human bodies are weak and fragile when over-worked, and I could sense you were exhausted from your task with the Wendigo, I simply waited, watching you both and guarding your sleep. Did you know you sing in your sleep, Dean?" queried the angel, innocently informative all of a sudden.

Dean let out an unusually girlish noise, pulling the blanket up to cover his grey sweat-shirted chest with a surprisingly outraged expression, "_One_, I so do not, and _two_… what the hell were you doing watching us sleep, Cas? Tad creepy… don't you think?"

"He's right, Dean… you kind of do sing in your sleep, I've got some footage on my laptop of you doing a magnificent mumbled rendition of '_I'm a little teapot_' at two in the morning, after our last run-in with that vampire nest in Washington." Sam stated in a hoarse sleep-ridden voice, slowly turning his head from its comfortable position –face down in the intensely fluffy pillow the motel provided- to face the pair, semi-glaring at the angel who was interrupting his delightful sleep with all the talking. "And _you_… it's nice to see you, but please go away… you and Dean can make _the eye-sex_ at each other at a more reasonable hour of the day." So saying, he flopped into the pillow again, ignoring both the other occupants of the room and falling into a half-conscious state. Listening, but trying to pretend he wasn't…

Castiel seemed puzzled, "I had been under the assumption that to show affection, a male of supernatural orientation should stand and watch the targets of their affection while they are asleep or unconscious; this is classified as both caring and in certain social groupings, a highly romantic ritual. Perhaps I was mistaken."

Dean was trying to be stern while yawning, pointing a finger at the angel and stating seriously, "No more _Twilight_ for you, I don't know where you got those damn books, but disregard anything you read in them. It's creepy, honestly… but we'll forgive you for not knowing that because you're just too damn cute. Now please be a good angel and lie down somewhere, pretend to sleep for the next couple of hours and we'll discuss this 'When Worlds Collide' style event in the morning. Right Sammy?"

"_Urgh_!" came the vehement reply, and a great rustling of sheets later… Sam had disappeared under his covers with only a tuft of messy dark hair sticking out over the lip of the white blanket. Dean chortled, half-watching his brother, the remainder of his attention fixated on the angel who appeared to be completely at a loss of what to do.

"Hey, Sam's asleep… come here you giant angelic idiot, what are you doing?" he called as the angel walked over looking perplexed but immediately sitting beside him. "I was attempting to find a place to sleep, I know your rules about when Sam is around… but Dean," Cas protested, "you know that angels do not require sleep unless the vessel is seriously injured or exhausted. I am neither at current."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Couldn't you just pretend to sleep for the next five or six hours? Count to infinity or something… and you can stay here with me, bed's big enough for two people…" he paused, thinking about the '_Not when Sam's around_' ruling on public displays of affection, and glared seriously at the angel lying as stiff as a board beside him, "Oh, and if Sammy asks in the morning…? Deny everything." He yawned, taking a moment to fully snuggle into the pillow provided and letting the world fall away. He'd deal with Sam's reaction in the morning, kid had to find out sooner or later.

No sooner was he asleep, than Castiel relaxed and moved closer on the small bed to whisper, "I can do that for you Dean." Smiling into the sleeping human's hair, and preparing to lay quietly until morning to appease the humans he cared about most in all of creation.

~)0(~

Whirring noises bounced off the grand entrance hall's stone walls as the gangly Doctor took the chance to fully sonic everything in the vicinity, pulling the screwdriver back towards him every so often with a delighted 'Ah!'

Amy was smiling at the somewhat bemused magical people surrounding them, "Sorry, he gets like this when we come across something new… usually right before something tries to kill us…" An interesting choice of words, given that she flew into a fighting stance as a staircase somewhere high above made a grating noise as it moved to a new position.

Hermione smiled kindly, "Oh, don't worry about that, it's the staircases you see… they like to-…"

"…_change_." Rory breathed in time with Amy, eyes as wide as saucers as they stared about, taking in something that simply couldn't-… _shouldn't_ be real; no matter how fantastically, impossibly solid it seemed. Harry was frowning, "How did you know that… about the staircases, I mean…?" the genuine puzzlement in his voice seemed overlaid with a strange tone, like he questioned how they were even here at all.

Amy had her mouth open to answer, when McGonagall's officious tone called out, "That will be enough, Mister Potter, Miss Granger. Our guests are tired and hungry, we shall not keep them from a good meal and a night's rest out of sheer curiosity… they will tell us in their own time how they came to be here." She made a sweeping gesture with her wand that did a rather fine job of removing the in-grained dust and grime from the small gathering's collective robes and clothing; also managing to get a few stray smudges of dirt and blood from grimy faces. Jack checked himself out in the shiny surface of a nearby set of armour's shield, smiling to show his approval of the fastest bath he'd ever taken with all of his clothes still on.

"That's quite the nice little trick you have there, Professor!" exclaimed the Doctor, eyeing the wand with all the excited curiosity of a child attempting to x-ray their birthday presents through willpower alone. His sonic screwdriver danced up and down the length of her wand, making no noise this time, light dim… he flicked it back, "Ah yes, I forgot… too bad the sonic doesn't do wood, or I'd be able to analyse how you did that in a heartbeat!" he assured her. Still a tiny bit upset about the wood thing… honestly, one of these days he'd get around to fixing that particularly embarrassing flaw.

Until then, there was food…

McGonagall arranged them all, herself in front, the visitors in two rows of two in the middle of the group, and each of the four students standing beside one of them; Madam Pomfrey bringing up the rear. Both Ron and Harry seemed to have suddenly remembered they were wearing their Quidditch gear, but felt it was too late to bring up the issue and so, shrugged meaningfully to one another.

Chattering in the hall beyond the gigantic ornate pair of doors they faced seemed to hush as the Professor rapped _one, two, three_ times in a clear, precise manner; straightening up as the giant doors swung forwards and open, seemingly of their own volition, opening onto a sea of students. Children as young as eleven stopped what they were doing to gaze from each of the four separate long tables in the room, at the unusual newcomers –who they all realised to be the reason that Dumbledore had not yet allowed them to eat; the tables as bare as their stomachs were empty and rumbling right this very moment.

Whispers chased them down the corridor as the small group processed behind the deputy headmistress down the main aisle between the four tables; curious glances were dancing up and down their bodies from all angles in a manner that made the newcomers feel somewhat naked, although they knew that the students were only curiously taking in the clothes they wore and how they walked. Trying to pinpoint where they'd come from, what had made the teachers draw them back to the school early… Of course, naturally the whole of Gryffindor House seemed to be abuzz with forbidden information, given it had been their team on the pitch at the time the TARDIS crashed; they appeared to be lording this fact over the Slytherins rather nicely.

Harry was secretly enjoying the look of utter consternation on Draco Malfoy's face; his rival obviously didn't enjoy not being in on the little secret. Obviously his father was going to hear of this… The Chosen One smirked slightly as he passed directly by where Draco sat, flanked by his two gargantuan lackeys –Crabbe and Goyle- and caught the angered blue eyes with his own; sparkling emerald green orbs danced with the triumph of this little victory over his enemy. Then glancing away languidly, as if he were completely dismissing the boy as not worthy of knowing the secret he harboured…

Ron was giving him a broad beam and flashed a 'thumbs up' signal to indicate his little ploy had effectively irritated Malfoy to the point he was most likely already furiously scribbling a note to his father about the disrespect of half-bloods at Hogwarts. Let him… it was utterly hilarious to watch. Besides, it's not as if they could have simply slunk into the Great Hall and covertly taken their seats for Dinner, not with the outlandishly dressed muggles wandering beside them.

Not that the Doctor was exactly helping them to blend in, cheerily waving to everyone and calling out greetings across the semi-silent dining hall until McGonagall halted them before the teacher's table. Upon a raised dais, overseeing the room, was a table at odds with the rest of the room; it faced out over the sea of students, and appeared to seat the entirety of the faculty and other staff. Leaving them all under the impression that the elderly white-bearded man gazing at them with some amusement over his half-moon spectacles… could only be the Headmaster. Professor Albus Dumbledore.

The man rose, raising both arms to show off a magnificent robe of deep purple material with golden crescent moons spread periodically all over; something told Harry that Dumbledore had worn it deliberately to impress the visitors, which made him smile broadly. The man was utterly brilliant!

"Welcome, travellers… I understand from Professor McGonagall's message earlier that your arrival has made quite the impact on both the students who witnessed it… and our poor Quidditch Pitch. Not to worry," the man stated, waving off the apologetic speech the Doctor had opened his mouth to give. "It is certainly not the first time we've had to mend the playing field, although the object that normally creates such a dent in the pitch is usually more _student-shaped_, I am sad to say. For now, let us away from silly thoughts and pleasantries, except to say, again, you are most _welcome_…"

"We at Hogwarts are always happy to welcome those of peculiar talents, those in need and travellers with an interesting story to tell and entertain. Given that you not only made it past the anti-Muggle charms lacing the grounds of the school, but failed to be destroyed by the Whomping Willow during your haphazard decent, and apparently also have a marvellous non-magical machine with _a bigger interior than its exterior suggests_… tells me that Hogwarts is exactly where you are meant to be right now." The Headmaster smiled kindly, addressing the Doctor directly in the silence of every single person in the entire Great Hall listening intently to the conversation.

"Although I am certain we would all be _fascinated_ to hear your story, I understand you and your companions have taken quite the beating while crash-landing fortuitously here, and while I have complete faith in Madam Pomfrey's ability to heal even the most serious of physical wounds and illnesses, you are almost entirely likely to be tired and hungry. Provisions have been made for you to stay in the Gryffindor Tower, where you will be assigned a student to show you about… In fact, I can see no better guides at current than the four students surrounding you!"

Dumbledore seemed to ignore the horrified stare Ron was casting in his direction, as the younger man felt the large hand of one Captain Jack Harkness reach out to squeeze his backside in a manner that he was certainly unaccustomed to. The man would NOT stop grinning, looking like he'd won the damn lottery… For the first time since coming face-to-face with Aragog and the other Acromantulas, Ron was truly terrified for his own fate…

Hermione was naturally paired with Amy, which made a certain amount of sense given she'd have to stay in the Girl's Dormitory while in the tower; Harry had seemingly wrangled the man called Rory, and poor Neville was looking particularly nervous at the idea of being put in charge of the Doctor's welfare. The man was practically a walking entity of curiosity and flailing octopus-like limbs… none of them particularly envied the boy his task, but Harry did overhear Rory whisper into Neville's ear, "_Don't worry, we'll try to keep him in line as much as possible…_"

Dumbledore raised his hands, "And now I believe it is time to eat…" he clapped his hands together twice and the tables appeared to miraculously fill with food. "Dig in!" he stated as he sat down again, visibly amused by the reactions of Amy, Jack and the Doctor. Rory remaining –as ever- generally unimpressed by all the fancy magical tomfoolery of the moment; if walking into the TARDIS for the first time hadn't elicited a reaction, food appearing from nowhere was monochromatic tiddlywinks in comparison.

~)0(~

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**To Be Continued...**

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**Coming Up Next! -**

**Chapter 6: Harry Potter and the Complex Conversations That Make No Sense**

A review or two would be nice...

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


	6. Chapter 6: Harry Potter and the Complex

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, Doctor Who, The Avengers, Harry Potter, Sherlock or any of the Associated Characters.**

**Chapter 6, for your viewing pleasure...**

**ENJOY.**

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**Chapter 6: Harry Potter and the Complex Conversations That Make No Sense**

~)0(~

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The metallic doors swooshed open with an efficient sense of purpose, instantly drawing the attention of every person in the room; expressions suddenly ranging from disbelief to surprise, and in one case, near-hysteria.

"Y-You're… You can't be alive, I-… we saw-… we thought-…" Tony Stark stuttered, sitting on the side of a hospital gurney in nothing more than an unfortunately revealing hospital gown and some shiny satin Iron Man boxers that peeked out the back. His pale face showing utter shock despite the amount of dressings and antiseptics layering it, mouth agape in surprise as the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist –_a title the man just loved to throw about_- processed the news.

"Always demand to see a body, Mr Stark, or they aren't dead yet." Answered Agent C with the calm, detached air of someone making small talk about the weather with someone they'd just met in an elevator. Simultaneously, he seemed studiously avoiding eye-contact with his childhood hero, Captain America, whose beautiful baby blues were wide with awed disbelief and… a sense of sad betrayal.

Despite this, a small smile graced the Agent's face, his eyes were calm as he readjusted the grey suit and tie he wore, only taken off-guard for a mere moment by an unexpected turn of events involving the two least likely remaining members of the AVENGERS.

He grunted slightly as one of the two assassins within the small medical area practically threw themselves over the medbay gurney between them and wrapped him in a tight hug of desperation and sheer relieved _platonic_ love. The other master-murderer striding purposefully about the very same bed, shoving a nearby nurse head-over-heels into a trolley of fresh linen (and studiously ignoring his fierce glare at her back) as she paused dead in front of Agent C.

Anyone else who had ever been this close to either of them usually wound up dead… but this was different.

While the other remaining AVENGERS were staring open-mouthed at the man –probably wondering how and why he was still alive, he heard his name whispered softly from both their lips, "_Coulson…_" before both of them were embracing him with all the pent-up emotion they'd denied themselves over his supposed death. It could have been imagination, but more than one of them allowed a momentary tear before swiftly dashing it away and denying the liquid weakness' very existence. If anyone deserved some of the emotions they generally denied themselves, or even having… it was their handler, risen from the dead. This man was everything to them…

Captain America was simply staring, "H-How…? Coulson, I-… If I'd known you were still alive I would never have-… It would have been _my turn_ to watch _you _sleep." He finished with a grin at their own private joke, tugging something out from a hidden slot in the arm-bracket of his shield. "Here, these belong to you…"

Steve Rogers stood up straight from where he'd been resting in the god-awfully uncomfortable plastic chair set beside Iron Man's assigned medbay bed, striding forwards past the now dis-engaged assassins to place four items in Agent Coulson's hand. The man's eyes narrowed at the bloodstains coating his precious vintage Captain America cards, obviously imagining himself throttling Director Fury for damaging them, but the stormy eyes lightened as he noticed several iconic scrawls lining the damaged collectables.

"You signed them…?" he raised an eyebrow, looking up at his childhood hero. Steve smiled, "Well, I thought that if… if it ever came to light Fury had lied to us about your death –_and we were all kind of hoping that was what had happened_- and you found out what he did to your cards… I thought that maybe a few signatures _might _just stop you from strangling the Head of S.H.I.E.L.D." Obviously, that had been the right thing to do… if the bemused smile on Coulson's face was anything to go by as he slid the cards carefully into an inner pocket of his suit jacket.

"My _miraculous return _aside, Director Fury has asked me to brief you and the other Avengers on a new situation that has arisen thanks to the unusual handling style of both the Loki Situation and Chitauri Invasion. There has been a secondary alien incursion in Earth's atmosphere. The Helicarrier's advanced sensors managed to capture a short, four-second video of a small, purple box-like structure hurtling to Earth in a parallel trajectory to that of Iron Man –thus why we believe it came through the portal- but the unknown object appeared to strike something sensors could not detect and veered sharply into a new trajectory. Fury's got the entire tech team working on finding out more about its origins, and they've identified that the passengers of the small craft may be either human or humanoid, based on the audio-clip retrieved from the video."

Tony Stark was staring at Agent Coulson as if he'd grown two heads. "Wait, you mean that thing I saw… was really there? Not some sort of whacked out alien hallucination brought on by lack of schwarma –which is excellent by the way- and plummeting to Earth?"

Coulson put on a tight '_behave, Tony, or I will taze you and watch _Supernanny_ while you drool into the carpet_' smile. "Essentially. Yes, Mr Stark… you seem to have had an impromptu extra-terrestrial encounter during your little free fall back to Earth –good job on saving the planet though." His phone beeped, prompting the man to whip it out, turn away and snap it open with an officious, "Coulson here, go."

There was possibly a full ten seconds of one-sided conversation from the voice on the phone, several affirming noises from Coulson, and all of a sudden it was over. The phone was shut and slid away in the same fluid moment that the man used to turn around. "That was Agent Hill, Director Fury has given orders for me to '_hurry the hell up and debrief you motherfuckers_', as the tech team believes they have correctly calculated the exact trajectory of the unknown object and the Helicarrier is moving to the projected co-ordinates as we speak." He held up a hand to forestall the verbal flood of protest that seemed angrily brewing on both Stark and Rogers' faces. "Before you say anything you should know that this is a matter of global security, Thor is being recalled from Asguard as we speak, and Doctor Banner has already been retrieved and is en route at this very moment."

He paused, looking officious, "The long and the short of it is, Earth needs you again and I'm sorry it's so soon after… _the Loki Incident_, but it's not like the extra-terrestrials called ahead to schedule it in for some time far more convenient, now did they?"

Iron Man gave an amused chuckle, but the others stared at him blankly. Coulson sighed inwardly before continuing, "The exact co-ordinates have been estimated at a location in the middle of the English countryside, in what has previously been determined as uninhabited. Satellite and radar scans have attempted to examine the area; unfortunately something at the specified location is jamming our instruments at current. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s advanced systems have also flagged the area surrounding the co-ordinates as unreadable and designated the location as an unknown zone. It was initially believed that the alien craft may be exuding a technology to jam our scans; however satellite and radar scan logs of the location have indicated this anomaly is consistent with the area over a significant period of time."

He paused for a breath and seemed visibly paler, but waved away the concerned glances the two assassins threw each other; both moving quickly to his sides as he continued speaking - deliberately ignoring the presence of both Hawkeye and Black Widow as if they were no more than well-carved statues that just so happened to be watching him like a hawk.

"The Helicarrier is being immediately dispatched, E.T.A. has been approximated at five hours, but given the significant tail winds Hill thinks we may arrive prior to that. We do not have any information on the threat we face when we arrive, but we have to assume that there is a slight possibility of it being friendly. So try not to blow anything up until we determine their intent… are you hearing me, Mr Stark? Or should I repeat myself?"

Tony waved his hand in a dismissive manner, "I heard you, Agent _Agent_. And I solemnly swear I am up to no good… Kidding, kidding! No explosions, promise." He seemed the very model of sincerity, until he muttered, "_Unless they start it…_" Which earned him the Coulson-glare, not quite as frightening as he imagined the unadulterated Bat-glare of Batman's to be… but pretty damn close in his books. For the first time in a long time, Tony suddenly felt very, _very naked_, without his Iron Man suit… the fact the internal air-conditioning was flapping the open folds of his hospital robe about didn't really help the sensation.

"Hate to rain on your parade, Agent, but uh, my suit is kinda totalled… and that was the shiniest one I owned. Not to mention Stark Tower was in _that _direction, which means I can't really help you when we get there…" the billionaire playboy just threw out there, sliding back onto the bed and flopping down like a tired child.

"Actually, Mr Stark, this was taken into consideration after it took the combined strength of Captain America, Thor, several C4 arrows and an entire tech team to get you out of your suit when you first arrived. I don't believe you remember that part, but I was watching on an internal monitor and it was a rather impressive sight to behold. What exactly do you think Doctor Banner has been doing down on Earth these past few hours…?" That earned him a quizzical glare. "After he calmed down from his… larger, angrier alter-ego, the Hulk… Doctor Banner was really quite concerned about you, and the other AVENGERS. He did, however, agree that until he had himself fully under control it might be best if he refrained from re-joining you on the Helicarrier. For the past several hours, the good doctor has been repairing and testing the majority of your other prototype suits and has interfaced your Artificial Intelligence –J.A.R.V.I.S.- with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s systems to keep us apprised of his progress. He is bringing what he calls the Mark VIII with him, and will rendezvous with the Helicarrier shortly, so once medical sets you free, you will be able to test his improvements for yourself."

He glanced about the still-silent room, "Any questions?"

He was met with two curt nods from Agents Barton and Romanoff, both used to taking orders from their Handler without question; but also two blank looks of utter confusion. Steve raised his hand tentatively, "Uh, I have a question, and I don't mean to be rude but… exactly _how_ are you not dead, Sir?"

There was a pause where Coulson raised a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, sighing softly as the question he knew had been coming since he stepped into the room was aired. "How about I tell you while we walk to the meeting room?" he compromised, diplomatically, and turned slowly to stalk out of the room.

As the metallic doors shut behind him, there came the distinctive sound of a verbal scuffle, followed by the sound of someone hitting the floor.

"Well," called Iron Man, "I'm curious as hell, why don't we all adjourn to the meeting room so we can wring the truth of his miraculous survival out of Agent Coulson?" There were the sounds of feet padding across the floor. They paused close to the door as another voice –the familiar commanding tones of Captain America- shouted, "For the love of the American Way, Tony, put some pants on first, there are ladies present!"

To which Black Widow scathingly stage-whispered, "Eh, don't bother covering up, I've seen bigger…" to a laughing Hawkeye. The assassin paused his laughter as a thought struck, "Hang on, didn't you just have Iron Man boxer shorts on? What did you do to-… oh. Why, Tony?" To be honest, Coulson didn't even want to know, but whatever it was seemed hilarious, as Clint had begun to laugh again; forcing the Agent to curb the desire to do a complete one-eighty degree U-turn and stride back in there to find out what the hell was so damn amusing.

Coulson knew the sound of that wheezing giggle anywhere… it was rather reminiscent of the time he'd had to give the entire compliment of new recruits in the master assassins first year course the lecture on keeping themselves safe during undercover sexual encounters on the job. Certainly S.H.I.E.L.D. agents didn't exactly have Bond-esque missions involving a lot of explosions and seduction of attractive members of either sex, but there was definitely a time and place for these things in espionage…

The giggling younger man at the back of the theatre had immediately earned his ire after making lewd puns the entirety of the mission, he'd only quieted and gone rather concerningly pale when the archer had realised that the Agent who'd been glaring down from the pulpit at him… was now his handler.

Ah, those had been some interesting times, certainly. Coulson started to stride away, listening intently with above-average hearing to the goings on in the room… and was rewarded. The cry the genius playboy billionaire philanthropist let out could have been comparable to that of someone receiving a physical blow… then again, Black Widow's words had been similar to a kidney punch to his considerably large ego.

He turned about a corner and expertly avoided a half-dozen agents running in all directions, eyes glaring down at their clipboards and tapping keys on their personalised datapads; looking about slowly, the Agent formerly known as 'C', smiled broadly for the first time in a long time…

The world was in danger, Fury was blowing a blood vessel yelling his head off in the command centre, and Tony Stark was causing scandal wherever he went…

Things were finally getting back to normal around here.

~)0(~

McGonagall shepherded the quartet of visitors to the Gryffindor table with their student guides, finding them a place directly at the end closest to the teacher's table; all the other Gryffindors having obligingly slid down the long wooden seats to accommodate. Amy, Rory, Jack and the Doctor slid into the bare seat spaces on one side of the table, with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Neville sitting directly opposite their charges; gesturing towards the food as if to say, _well go on_. All eight started to load their plates with whatever was palatable and within arm's reach of their exact location…

"Well this is cosy!" the Doctor exclaimed, looking about, "Ooh, look at that! Those students have the same robes as you do, but none of the other tables do… That makes them Gryffindors, and oh, we get to stay in Gryffindor Tower! Amazing! We really _are_ at Hogwarts, isn't it brilliant?" he beamed, pleased and a tad surprised at how genuinely animated this news seemed to make Rory –Amy too, but Rory just about vibrating off his chair in excitement was a surprise. Jack was frowning, "Doc, I may the only one here wondering this but… how _exactly _is all of _this _here? Not that I'm not loving this but, it should be physically impossible for us to be here, for this place to exist… it shouldn't be real."

Hermione was staring intently at them, "What do you mean, shouldn't be real…?" her beautiful chocolate eyes narrowed in defensive confusion as the Doctor attempted to explain. "Well, you see… in the time and place –possibly universe, if the readings on my sonic are right- we are from, all of this… Hogwarts, the houses…you… you're from a very successful book series about a magical school. This one, to be exact… it's hard to explain, but I think this might be the world that dear old JK Rowling saw in her dreams… and wrote it down. Anyway, it was a bit of a pleasant shock to discover you here, actually. Any chance we can have a go at that Quidditch game of yours? I know you'd make Rory and Amy's centuries if you said yes." He paused for breath, continuing to talk before that revelation could cement itself in their minds. "Anyhow, you're probably wondering who we are and how we got here… right?"

For a split-second, Harry felt his scar flare up uncomfortably, and could have sworn Dumbledore's head had turned sharply in his direction; but after a moment, it was gone and no one was looking in his direction. In fact, it appeared each and every student in the room was avidly listening to the Doctor.

"You saw the TARDIS –that's the acronym for _Time and Relative Dimensions in Space_ in case you didn't know- it's time-travelling machine, bit hard to explain, but imagine something that exists in each and every moment of time, in all the spaces of the universe… simultaneously." Just thinking about it gave everyone in the vicinity a throbbing headache. "Well, that's the basic principle… the rest is more advanced physics and some _wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff_ that's a bit harder to explain to someone who hasn't studied Gallifreyan temporal mechanics. You simply input the co-ordinates, like time, date, position in space… and nine out of ten times you get to the right place. Did I mention that the TARDIS is sentient? No? Well, she is… and occasionally she decides to take you where she thinks you are most needed… rather than where you want to go."

Amy giggled and stage-whispered, "He calls the TARDIS '_Sexy_'… it's occasionally a bit awkward when they're talking together…"

The Doctor whirled about to point a finger sternly in the young Pond's face, "Oi, she also calls Rory 'the Pretty One' and you don't see me getting petty or jealous about it, do you? Now where was I…? Oh yes, how we got here… Well, we were just on the way to Space Hawaii –which is a truly fantastic place, I must take you all sometime- and those two were in the process of picking me out a shirt when suddenly something went utterly wibbly… An alarm klaxon started to go off with this loud metallic grating noise, we now know it pertained to this big temporal rift thing… but I'm getting ahead of myself."

Hermione was practically leaning across the table now to get closer, Harry courteously removing the bowl of mashed potato that threatened to smear down the front of her robes; Jack was occasionally stealing pieces of food off of Ron's stacked plate while the redhead was staring at the Doctor with a slack-jawed expression of fascination. Neville was the least animated of them all, but his eyes seemed to grow wider each time the Doctor gesticulated in his direction, like he was mentally recording everything said. Rory and Amy were eating copious amounts of the succulent chicken and other delights on display, simultaneously nodding along and interjecting such fascinating phrases as 'Yep' or 'Spoilers', where necessary.

"You see, to get from one point to another in the TARDIS, she takes the co-ordinates you give her and opens a time vortex… like a giant purple swirling tunnel that can intersect any two points in time or space. The journey in real-time is near instantaneous, however it can last anything from a few seconds to over an hour –_especially if certain people insist upon getting toast crumbs all over the console and shorting out the vortex manipulator_!" There was a dirty look thrown in Rory's direction.

The man in question shrugged, grinned cheekily and threw back, "You still love me, though…" with an audacious wink that none of the others would have thought him capable of, given his quiet demeanour.

The Doctor sighed in an overdramatically exasperated fashion, letting his head fall into his hand before turning to grin side along at Rory, "Unfortunately you are completely correct on that account… Where was I? Oh yes, well this particular time we were trying to reach Space Hawaii, something went wrong… there was some strange kind of temporal disturbance intersecting the time vortex the likes of which I'd never seen before –_and that's saying something_!" he bounced excitedly in place, jeopardising the safety of several nearby goblets of pumpkin juice. "Seems like someone was projecting a portal through the temporal folds of subspace, in _this_ universe and it pierced through to us in _our _universe, quite by accident. I suppose we were just caught in its gravity well like a leaf in a whirlpool. One minute we're headed for a planet with a magnificent artificial sun and the perfect climate, then next… we've popped into another universe –_this one_ to be precise- something outside was exploding, and Jack there decided to jump _inside_ just before the TARDIS's emergency life form protection protocols took over and sent us hurtling to this Earth…"

"…and that's how we got here!" concluded Amy, grinning awkwardly around a mouthful of delectable potato salad, raising her goblet as if to mock-toast the occasion, then pausing with a frown. "Jack, how on earth did you get on the outside of the TARDIS, and how did you survive out there, exactly?"

The Captain grinned in the way that made men, women and _aliens without a distinction of gender_ swoon all over the galaxy, "Fun factoid, thanks to a previous companion of the Doctor's taking a quick peek into the pure unadulterated time vortex… -which nearly destroyed her, and forced him to regenerate- _I can't die_. We were trying to retake a hostile space-station being run by this creepy alien guy who had a thing for killing humans –_or something, it was a long time ago for me_- it was sheer suicide… and sure enough, I died; but Rose… she, she did something to me –pulled me apart molecule by molecule, changed it and put me back together again. I haven't been able to _die _die since then… no matter what happens I just come back to life –which is probably why the wilds of space didn't immediately destroy me, although the fact I was also inside the TARDIS's oxygenated force field probably helped too. There's a thin layer of air it projects about itself, fantastic feature actually… lets you _really _lean out the door to have a unique view of any world you're visiting, saving… or occasionally, destroying."

He paused to make approximated gestures of the forcefield with his hands, giving the listeners an impression of a strangely spherical shaped box, before continuing.

"As to the _how_ and _why_ I got to be clinging to the outside of the TARDIS, dodging time lightning in the vortex… well, I was trapped in Cardiff on a rare day off from my unusual day job of hunting aliens causing mayhem on Earth –_er, my Earth, not yours_- when _what should just randomly decided to be sitting in an alleyway across the street_, but the TARDIS? It took only a glance to determine that there was a Doctor on Earth, not either of the ones I knew though… but the excitement was still the same. There I was, just about to knock, when the engines started going –I'm going to assume that's why you didn't hear me knock the first thousand or so times because you didn't open the door- and I had no choice but to grab on as we dematerialised or wait another hundred or so years for another chance encounter."

Something inside Harry prompted him to ask, "But… if you can't die, and someone kills you… wouldn't that make you a zombie? You know, the undead things that Muggles believe are going to rise from the grave and eat their brains…?"

Hermione surreptitiously whacked Ron round the back of his head as he smirkingly whispered, "_If it's brains they want, all of Hufflepuff will be safe, then…_" to Neville; who smiled nervously and ducked under the baleful glare of the bushy-haired female, fearing a strike being sent in his direction.

Jack looked directly at Harry with eyes sparkling, "Well, I suppose you are technically right… but you see, I'm not a walking collection of wounds, nor do I have a hankering for grey matter, in fact… when I come back to life, after I dislodge the killing element if there was one, I'm perfectly healthy. But," he cautioned, holding up a finger for emphasis, "it's not always great… there was this one time my body was destroyed by a bomb blast, coming back to life was the most horrifying and agonising thing I've ever experienced to this very day. And if anyone here is thinking this might be a great alternative to death, it's not… It's really not. Fun party trick, sure… but remember that one of your closest friends has to die to make you this way and it will never end. Besides, after Rose… I don't think the Doctor is going to reveal the source of pure time energy to anyone…"

There was a brief silence all around their small portion of the table before Neville finally worked up the courage to turn to the Ponds and ask, "What about you two, then? He's an alien, and the Captain can't die apparently… so, what about the Ponds?"

The genuine surprise that Neville had spoken seemed to rob Ron, Harry and Hermione of speech as they stared momentarily at the boy, then turned slowly, almost quizzically, to the Ponds with an interested trio of expressions. Amy smiled broadly with a flush on her cheeks, "Fish fingers and custard!" she declared, then stared intently at her plate as Rory mumbled something that sounded strangely like, "_We're really not that exciting, I mean… Amy is… but I'm not… we just tag along and cause chaos, in general._"

All of a sudden it was raining Butterbeer and Pumpkin Juice –_which the Doctor had apparently decided to mix into one goblet to see what it tasted like_- as the alien spluttered, "**_Not that important_**? Now Rory, you and Amy are seriously underestimating yourselves there! Without you two, -_the Lone Centurion and the Girl with the Universe in her head-_ our **entire universe** wouldn't exist… or is it 'would never have existed'? Nevermind, the point is you are _brilliant_, and I refuse to hear you say anything against yourselves! Besides which, for anyone who is curious… they are fantastic in be- _mmph?_"

"Doctor, they're only children…" Amy hissed, having covered his mouth in concern; Ron looked offended, "Oi, we're sixteen!" he stated, gesturing at the four of them. The redheaded woman rolled her eyes with a smile, "_You _are, yes… but _they're_ not…" she nodded towards the first, second and third years near falling off the pews of their respective tables trying to hear what the Ponds were good at –not yet old enough to piece it together and flush scarlet like the majority of fourth, fifth and sixth years were doing.

Jack leant forwards, "Are you really…? I think I'll have to check that out sometime… anyway, you were saying something about the destruction of the entire universe? I know that roman-boy over there mentioned having memories of a time that didn't exist, and I was in them, hey… did we ever…?" He made a quick hand movement between them, and Rory gave a curt nod while studiously avoiding the gaze of his wife and the open-mouthed Doctor.

"Hey, if you got to have a go on that ride… I shotgun the next one!" she stated, matter-of-factly, flicking her long red locks back over her shoulder and shivering suddenly, like she was cold despite the warmth of the Great Hall.

Madam Pomfrey glanced down sharply at them, eyes like x-ray scanners, assessing the travellers with a terrifyingly intense stare. The four of them might as well have been sitting there utterly nude with little signs hanging about their necks stating '_somewhat peaky but alright_', '_almost full, needs a good kip_', '_wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey_' and '_What time do you get off…?_'.

After a moment, having noted the encouraging flush of colour dotting their collective cheeks after they had a good meal inside them –_that was only now being replaced with fantabulous desserts of all shapes, flavours and sizes_- she returned to her own meal and conversation with Professor Flitwick. A collective sigh of relief was released. The woman was an angel of mercy, but that didn't mean being in her sights was anything short of terrifying experience…

The Doctor decided to explain his companions, "Amy here is the most fantastical creature… you see, thanks to an accident in the space-time continuum, a time crack opened in her bedroom wall when she was very young. It began slowly feeding the entirety of the universe into her mind through her dreams, while eating away at her life -which was terrible but fascinating. One night, while I was in the middle of regenerating, I crash-landed in her garden after the psychic paper –_this wonderful little paper here,_" he brandished the blank paper which immediately took on several forms rather rapidly before fixing on '**F.B.I. -****_Federal Breast Inspector'_** (most likely given Jack was thinking really, _really hard_ in its direction at the time), "picked up one of her prayers for help to Santa."

Amy turned magenta, "Did you have to say that part _quite_ so loudly?" she hissed. To which the Doctor grinned, "Why, yes! Now, I was all a bit wibbly-wobbly, new body and everything… but I was suddenly craving an apple, when young Amelia Pond appears in her pyjamas and offers me fish fingers and custard of all things! Lovely combination, though… who would have thought? Anyhow, after I'd rebuilt the TARDIS –crash landed, don't you know? She wasn't very pleased- I did sort of promise to come back for her, but… space is all wibbly-wobbly and I did come back for her… only not the next day, or the one after that… but several years later."

"There were a lot of trips to the Baltazaarian Markets on Rigel 6 before I forgave him for that, I waited in my garden _all night_ with my suitcase… waiting for my Raggedy Doctor to return." She gave a glare, and crossed her arms with the most adorable mock-pout…

"Amy Pond, the Girl Who Waited… and then there's Rory, the man who was erased from time itself and became the Lost Centurion, who guarded something sacred for over two thousand years. You see I stole them both on the eve of their wedding and things spiralled out of control from there. Time cracks like the one in Amelia's room were appearing all throughout time and space, and if anything was caught in one… they were erased from history… like they were never born and never would be. Long story short, there was an incident with some lizard-people who lived at the centre of _our_ Earth, and one of them tried to shoot me while I was investigating one of the cracks… but Rory pushed me out of the way at the last minute." The Doctor paused, taking a moment to compose himself as Amy physically wrapped herself around her husband like a love-struck octopus. The alien appeared jealous that he couldn't quite reach the man from the far side of Jack…

"Well, as you can imagine… he died –for the first time, he's died quite a lot since then, always comes back to life, but not like Jack does… getting ahead of myself. Problem was, the time crack also got a hold of him in its long, white tendril-y things… and I was left with the agonising decision of saving his body -and therefore preserve his memory- or save Amy. I knew which one Rory would have wanted –so I dragged Amy screaming into the TARDIS -her flailing fists of righteous fury gave me one hell of a concussion, I tell you! Rory was completely erased from history and memory until I was the only one who even remembered he was gone, although Amy would often burst into tears without knowing why she was sad, or who was missing…" he paused, "It was a difficult time."

"Then something completely unexpected happened. My enemies –and there were quite a few, you don't live to be a thousand without accumulating a few dozen murderous species with grudges against you- managed to trap us on Earth, in a time and place chosen by the collapsing universe itself. The Time Cracks were destroying everything, stealing different parts of history… but also rebuilding it as Amy remembered, but all wibbly –if that makes sense." It didn't, but they nodded along, wondering where this was going.

The Doctor continued, "The world was being rewritten according to things Amy didn't even _remember _she remembered; like the book about Roman centurions she'd read as a child… or Rory… who had been remade in the image of Roranicus the Roman Centurion. Well, actually, technically he was an Auton –a race of beings with emotions and the physical bodies of humans, but made of plastic. Like living, thinking dress-shop dummies, basically. Long story short, my enemies were under the impression that to save the universe all they had to do was imprison me in a giant box called the _Pandorica_, which is possibly the only thing in the entire known universe that can contain me and yet sustain life eternally. Small problem, despite the Amy-Rory reunion, he was still an Auton, and accidentally shot her –as per his programming… after I'd sufficiently warned off the hovering alien ships, and an interjection from my future self, we put Amy in the _Pandorica_ to save her. Which Rory dutifully guarded for over two thousand years…"

Within the pause, the subject of discussion decided to chime in about his own fate with an interesting historical tidbit. "If anyone was wondering, Shakespeare actually did write a sequel to his famous play '_Hamlet_' –despite the fact that everyone died in the first one- but when he came to read it to me, I suggested that maybe he try a different idea because no matter how exciting a time-travelling doctor saving them all before they died might be in the sequel… It would have had him locked in the insanitarium." Rory interjected, suddenly remembering a time that hadn't occurred, "Shakespeare actually came looking for me, one dark night when he was having trouble with his newest play, '_Romeo and Juliet'_, allured by the stories of me that some travelling bard I'd spoken to out of boredom had been spreading. Asked a bit of advice on how to end it… he's just lucky I paid attention in English Literature or high school students all over the globe would be questioning why the lovers suddenly abandoned their tragically romantic suicidal destinies to ride off into the sunset on sloths… Anyhow, Will was fascinated by the story of the Roman and the Box he guarded, and I may have let slip that Amy was in there…" he flickered a glance at Amy, who was nonchalant.

"Anyway, in thanks for the information and my opinion, he… uh, wrote a rather well-known story about lovers with their intentions crossed by magical forces –or as he put it '_the passion of two young lovers distorted by fate_'- which I think was a metaphor about us." Amy punched him in the arm, "Well, which one was it? Go on, tell me!"

Rory smiled goofily, "Er… '_A Midsummer Night's Dream_', actually… sorry Doctor, he decided the character you portrayed in the story had a donkey's head." Just knowing that was one of his wife's all-time favourite Shakespearean plays…

"Not the first time I've been the goofy idiot in historical and classical literature," smiled the Doctor, "Now, as much as I'd like to go and sleep for eternity, I have a feeling that leaving this tale unfinished will get me murdered in my bunk… do you HAVE bunkbeds? Bunkbeds are cool! To get back to the story, When I finally met Rory again, in the future, and released Amy from the _Pandorica_… there was a small complication, my future wife –River Song, you'd love her- was in the TARDIS which was trapped in an emergency temporal loop to save her life. The TARDIS was exploding in all points of space and time from its location in the centre of a sun - but the automated protection protocols force it to create a temporal loop, running time over and over until I, or an external force, can rescue those trapped inside."

"Problem was… there was no way to get to her, unless… my future self figured it out first, and used my past-self as a distraction for the Dalek that was chasing us around the museum…"

At this point, the majority of the listeners wore the most confused expressions, but nodded along, most not even knowing what a Dalek was… others with vague recollections of the Doctor speaking about giant salt-shaker aliens with whisks or toilet plungers of death… or something like that, much earlier in the conversation.

"Anyway, the _Pandorica _itself was kind of like an Ark –from the 'Muggle' story about the fellow and his magical ark that carried all the animals? Yes, that one. Well, it contained life-creating particles from before the whole universe started to go ka-blewey! So my future self worked out that to save the world, indeed the universe… it had to be destroyed… the **_Big Bang Two_**, you could say. Reset everything back to zero and hope it reboots the right way, which involved me piloting the giant black cube of a Pandorica straight into the continuously exploding TARDIS, giving us the ability to spread the seeds for a correct timeline throughout time and space simultaneously. Oh, I got River out earlier using her own Vortex Manipulator –which is like a smaller, nastier knock-off version of my TARDIS- so she wasn't in there when I blew it up!" He took what seemed to be the first breath in several long minutes. "Basically, it worked, the universe reverted to the way it should have gone without the time crack's interference… unfortunately, it also erased me. Luckily, Amy still had a little power left in that beautiful brain of hers and remembered me back into existence. A happy ending, and these two finally managed to get married somewhere in there!"

Jack was eyeing Rory, going so far as to reach out a hand and poke the guy's wrist, "You feel warm enough… are you sure he's an Auton?" he asked the Doctor, while the rest of the room reeled at the swirling vortex of information that was still ringing in their ears and the air surrounding them.

The Doctor uncharacteristically scoffed, "Of course he's not an Auton _anymore_! Reverting the time-lines meant he never technically died… and therefore he's still human, but with some added memories of a few thousand years that never really happened –_like your pole-dancing nun tattoo that never was_. Besides, he's died loads more times since then… becoming somewhat of an expert at it, actually –never hurt him too much."

The subject of conversation rolled his eyes between spoonfuls of a sinfully delicious chocolate pudding, "Yeah, right… each time I die -rather than going anywhere definitively- I just _stride into Death's place_, call, '_Honey, I'm Home_' and go check the fridge… Can't you just picture it?" The sarcasm lacing that statement was not lost on those present, but apparently Jack _could_ picture it, as he practically sprayed pumpkin juice everywhere while laughing until he was red in the face. It honestly didn't help his case when he tried to explain the strange scene he was imagining with the Grim Reaper wearing a frilly pink Apron and oven mitts…

He gave up shortly thereafter.

"So, how many times, have you died then…?" Ron asked curiously. Rory seemed to consider it, if his facial expression was anything to go on, "Uh, oh… er, about six, no seven times? Could be more or less, but sometimes I forget… less trauma that way."

Harry had the vague impression that this information was not so much being stored in his mind, but rather snatched away before he could absorb it, but dismissed the sensation as simple tiredness. He yawned and stretched, "Wow, I'm beat… but I'm guessing you lot need a shower almost as much as we do, let's just wait until Dumbledore dismisses us, then we'll show you where to go. Oh, and remember, the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room is a secret… so please don't go spreading it around."

"Whatever you say, Chosen One…" the Doctor mumbled around his pudding, causing the others to practically choke on theirs, but offered no further information on their seemingly intimate knowledge of the subject -no matter how many questions they asked. The companions were still tiredly jubilant, though for what exact reason none were certain…

_Oh, if they only knew_ the shrine the Ponds had erected to the Harry Potter series in an abandoned room of the TARDIS… none of them would probably ever be game enough to sleep around them again.

~)0(~

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**~*To Be Continued...*~**

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**Let Me Know what you think,**

**Up Next - Chapter 7: Confounding Keepers, Vintage Cards & Motherfuckers**

**~*SailorSilvanesti/Phoenix Fire*~**


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